


A Gentleman's Wager

by PalenDrome (nerdherderette)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, Anal Play, Angst with a Happy Ending, BDSM Scene, Byronic Heroes, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Jane Austen Behind the Scenes, Kylo has no Sense or Sensibility, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Violence, Multi, Oral Sex, Past DubCon, Protective Hux, Pygmalion/My Fair Lady, Regency Romance, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-28 21:03:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 85,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6345067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdherderette/pseuds/PalenDrome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A cruel betrayal has since turned Lord Ren into one of London's most notorious rakes. Contenting himself to a life of debauchery, the Earl of Alderaan has long been viewed by marriageable society as a lost cause. Yet a chance encounter with an orphaned pickpocket proves that love may be found in the most unexpected of places, and that it is never too late to repair a broken heart.</p><p>[excerpt]:<br/>"She looks smart and quick, Ren. If anyone could do it, I would bet on you."</p><p>Ren laughed, the sound of it slightly harsh and foreign. "What, you would have me teach her how to be a scullery maid?"</p><p>Hux shook his head. "Of course not. Perhaps you could introduce her to the ways of the gentry. Work to improve her manner and her dress. With your guidance, and the resources at your disposal, I wouldn't be surprised if you could transform this pickpocket into a lady."</p><p>Ren snorted. "Yes. She is the model of a docile, educated and refined woman."</p><p>"You have no desire to bed her. Perhaps an interaction with the fairer sex without such distractions would make you appreciate them in a different manner."</p><p>Hux, ever the strategist, dared him with a gleam in his eyes. "Unless you're not up to the challenge."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Absinthe Minded

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the incredible Regency portraits by [**TheRealMcGee**](http://therealmcgee.tumblr.com/tagged/my-art)  
>  *Artwork for Chapter 2 by [**Sakurita94**](http://sakurita94.tumblr.com/)  
>  **Artwork for Chapter 10 by [**billysmind**](http://billysmind.tumblr.com/)  
>  ***Artwork for Chapter 18 by [**Panda-Capuccino**](http://panda-capuccino.tumblr.com/)  
>   
>     
>  **Chapter Outline: ******  
> Part I: Introduction  
>  Part II: The Off-Season/Caserta Hall: Chapters 2-10  
> Part III: The London Season: Chapters 11-17  
> Part IV: Epilogue  
>   
> 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Lord Ren's recalcitrant behavior finally catches up to him  
>   
> [excerpt]: Although not physically painful, his scar was an emotional reminder of a time when he was naive and foolish, of when his heart had been broken by the disloyalty and cruel whims of a dark woman. They were bitter memories which he did his best to forget with drink, gambling and the pleasures of the flesh.

* * *

  ** _Advice is seldom welcome; and those who want it the most always like it the least_ **

-Philip Stanhope, 4th Earl of Chesterfield 

 

The time had long surpassed midnight.  The majority of the patrons of the Elephant and Castle had already turned in for the night, although at least three of its occupants had decidedly different activities in mind.

An elegant woman stood in the center of the room, the smoothness of her alabaster skin a foil for the delicate flush which stained her cheeks. The silken fabric of her gown rustled softly as she made her way around the beautiful couple, setting a well-crafted glass on the table in front of them. The vessel's base was nipped and flared, designed for its transformative ritual.  Its smooth form flickered in the candlelight, awaiting to unlock all of the drink's unabashed potencies as well as its whispered promises.

Lord Ren, Earl of Alderaan, frowned as he eyed the opaque bottle sitting alongside the glass. The chair in which he sat was too small for his tall frame, and he stretched his legs out in front of him as he felt them stiffen. The buckskin material of his skintight breeches hugged the length of his limbs, showcasing the definition of his muscular thighs before tapering into a pair of black leather boots. He leaned closer to the table as he inspected the liqueur, a mild distaste displayed on his strong features.

"Isabelle." His voice was deep with warning in that single word, his sensual lips set in a downturn. He had tasted the spirit once before, straight. It was unpalatable: too strong, the licorice flavor too bitter. He would have preferred a good fortified wine or French brandy, any day.

"Patience, My Lord," the woman smiled. "You did not enjoy it before as you took it neat. There is no good to come of drinking it in such a fashion unless you want to become sopping drunk." She laughed, the melodic sound slightly lessening his apprehension. "You have much to learn, _mon cher_."

She waved a delicate hand over the glass. "This preparation- _La Louche_ -will liberate the essences of the absinthe, so sadly missing from your previous experience."  She teased him as if scolding a child.   _"C'est dommage."_

Isabelle took out a slotted spoon and set three sugar cubes on top over the intricately patterned metal cutouts, setting the lip of the handle over the rim of the glass. She poured the emerald liquid over it, filling the reservoir, the fluid now contained within its bulbous base.

"Pernod Fils.  This bottle was given to me by Henri-Louis himself, in Pontarlier. It is the absolute finest in quality." She proceeded to drizzle stilled ice water over the sugar, the dissolved, sweetened liquid flowing downwards into the glass, causing the mixture's peridot hue to become opalescent and a milky greenish-white in color.

" _Voilà._ Now you shall experience the true power of  _Le_ _Fée Verte."_ She leaned over to hand him the glass, exposing her bosom to his gaze in the process. Her breasts were framed in the low cut of her gown, her graceful neck and shoulders left scandalously bared. The tall male was tempted to forego the drink altogether to sample what lay below all those layers of silk.

"My Lord?" she persisted.  She lifted her deep blue eyes, awaiting his assessment.

Kylo sniffed experimentally, his nostrils flaring. He sipped gingerly and was pleasantly surprised. The bitterness of the wormwood and the flavor of the anise were mellowed by tinges of lemon and fennel, sweetened and diluted by the sugar water. He began to feel a sense of clarity. He was well familiar with the effects of spirits to know that he was not feeling the typical sensations of being properly shot in the neck. Instead, it was if his perceptions were magnified, intensified.  He felt the softness of the night air, breathed in the sharpness of the quiet sounds, and heard the muted colors of the objects around him.

He acknowledged his pleasure at his heightened sensibilities.

"You are truly amazing, my darling," he murmured seductively, bringing up his hand behind Isabelle's head and pulling her down for a kiss. She reciprocated his gesture, pressing her lips against his wicked mouth, tasting the anise and herbs on his tongue and the desire in his breath. Her hand trailed appreciatively over his broad chest, deftly undoing the fabric buttons of his waistcoat. Her practiced fingers came to rest at the hem of his jacket which rested on the angle of his hip, the pressure from her caress increasing his arousal.  He felt a quick pang of loss as she stood to retrieve something from her reticule.

Kylo watched her appreciatively, her hips swaying sensually as she moved, her chestnut hair thick and lustrous as it caught the light. Although she was several years older than he, there was no other female who equaled her in his mind. Madame Isabelle de Montespan was witty and beautiful, charming and well-educated, with a fierce independent streak. It was whispered among polite society that she was descended from two of the most noble families in France, and rumored not so politely that her mother had also been a celebrated mistress of the French court.

Kylo could care less about rumors, he himself having been the subject of many, or the fact that England was currently involved in the Napoleonic Wars. Although much of the public may have looked down their noses at Isabelle and her bold ways, branding her a _demimondaine_ , Isabelle knew and embraced who she was. She had taught Kylo many things during their time together about life, art and fashion, the importance of _joie de vivre_ , and especially of _les plaisirs de la chair_. He adored her and she him in return, although they both knew that their relationship was one of friendship, respect, and the occasional fuck, rather than love. In fact, he knew that her heart belonged to another, although her love remained unrequited and his identity a mystery.

Ren felt another pair of feminine hands loosening his cravat and removing his vest.  The woman seated on his right kissed the length of his throat while she sighed his name, her blonde ringlets tickling his cheek. She ran her fingers through his ebony hair, which fell forward across his face and curled down towards his shoulders. His mane was slightly longer and more exaggerated than what was considered fashionable, but it only served to enhance the angular planes of his visage and his raw beauty.

Kylo felt himself harden in response to her ministrations, propelled by the absinthe, the warmth of her mouth, and the feel of her soft, pliable body pressed against him.  The deep neckline of her blue gown exposed her ample breasts far beyond the boundaries of decency, and he brought up his hands to cup them roughly, squeezing them as he felt her nipples harden under the material which clung tightly to every curve.

Lady Elizabeth Lewes let out a breathy moan. She enjoyed Kylo's touch, his hard physique, so different from the soft and portly body of her husband. She was merely twenty six years of age, having had the misfortune of becoming stuck in a loveless marriage with a man old enough to be her grandfather, imprisoned by her father's debts and his desperate need to maintain what was left of his lands and title. After providing Viscount Daniel Lewes with a male heir, Elizabeth had considered her wifely duties complete, and was only more than eager to share Kylo's bed while maintaining the outward appearance of the faithful and devoted wife.

It was an arrangement which Kylo preferred: no strings sex, with experienced women who did not harbor fanciful dreams of marriage. He had no need for a genteel green girl, naïve and chaste, her pretty head filled with needy emotions and her heart threatened by the possibility of dishonor. Widows and married women who were discreet and expected little in return with the exception of a good time and an occasional bauble or allowance for their efforts suited his needs perfectly.

Isabelle rejoined the pair, handing Lady Lewes a small bottle containing a dark, reddish-brown liquid. She hesitated for a moment as the younger woman reached out for it greedily.

"Elizabeth," she cautioned. "You are not using this too much or too often?"

The blonde made a moue. "Of course not, Isabelle." Her hands shook as she reached out, placing a dropperful into her glass. She had started taking laudanum after experiencing the discomfort brought on by childbirth, and quickly realized that it was effective in dulling not only the physical, but also the emotional pain in her life.

The bitterness of the medicine was tempered by the absinthe and the cinnamon and saffron which had been added to the tincture of opium. Elizabeth closed her eyes as she sipped the concoction, her pupils slowly becoming constricted and a mild euphoria overtaking her as she succumbed to its welcomed effects.

Kylo stood, drawing himself up fully, towering over the two women. He was feeling pleasantly foxed, the result of hours spent imbibing at Crockford's with Hux and the addition of the absinthe. He moved towards Isabelle, taking her practiced mouth into his as he splayed his hand against her back, pressing her against him as he leaned his hardness against the layers of her clothing.

Hux didn't know what he was missing. The ladies had expressed their eagerness for him to join them in their room. As always, however, the General had politely declined. He already had his fill of the choicest liquors and wines whilst he and Kylo were at the gaming hell, and after winning a considerable sum at Hazard, begged off the rest of the evening, citing the need for sleep. Kylo could have sworn seeing a flash of regret in Hux's eyes as he rebuffed their offer. He was currently stationed two doors down in the hostelry, retired for the night.

Hux.  Always dependable, always responsible. Kylo sighed.  One of these days he would like to see his best friend break free from his rigid restrictions and _enjoy_ life.

Any further thoughts of Hux were pushed out of his mind as Isabelle divested Kylo of his linen shirt, pressing her mouth against his bared chest, tasting the scent and salt of his skin as she slowly licked down the hardness of his body to the trail of hair which peeked above the edge of his breeches. His trousers were tented from his arousal, and she inflamed him further by ghosting her lips around its shape, the heat and moisture from her breath causing him to push his hips forward, as if to chase after and beg for his capture.

Elizabeth's bow shaped lips were parted, coming in for a kiss from above as Isabelle worked her magic down below.  He groaned from the pleasure of their mouths, running his tongue against the blonde's lower lip, his gentle nipping and tugging causing it to redden and swell further.  Her fingers traced the outline of his nose, lingering against his cheek and coming to rest on the scar which slashed angrily across its prominence.

The scar may have marred the beauty of a lesser man, but for Lord Ren, it seemed to accentuate it, adding a hint of danger to the darkness and roughness of his appearance. He hissed slightly, grabbing Elizabeth's wrist tightly, a warning to stay away. Although not physically painful, his scar was an emotional reminder of a time when he was naive and foolish, of when his heart had been broken by the disloyalty and cruel whims of a dark woman. They were bitter memories which he did his best to forget with drink, gambling and the pleasures of the flesh.

The trio moved towards the bed. Isabelle sat on the edge of the horsehair mattress as Ren slipped the edge of her silk gown over her breasts. They were full and proud, freed from the confines of the material which now sat gathered at the high waist of the garment, pushing up the mounds of flesh obscenely in front of his face. He took a rosy nipple into his mouth, licking and suckling it with his tongue as she gave in to the pleasure, her head tilted back and blue eyes dilating. He moved his hand downwards, applying pressure in a circular motion to her quim, feeling the heat in response to his movements as she grew wet with her need for him.

Kylo's eyes darkened as he watched Elizabeth lean in and kiss the other woman, the image of a fine quality courtesan. She was emboldened by the alcohol and opium and the expressions of arousal in the air, baritone and alto and soprano mixing together in a symphony of pleasurable sighs. She exhaled slightly as she experienced the softness of another female's lips against hers for the first time. Isabelle encouraged her experimentation, letting her savor the sweet sensations and gentle warmth of her mouth, smiling slightly as the blonde let out a moan, her lips parting to take in Isabelle's tongue.

Ren stood, the fall-front and tightness of his breeches doing little to hide the size of his arousal as he walked behind the pair. He unclasped Elizabeth's overdress and lowered it to the floor, the muslin of her chemise exposing her pinkened skin and her hardened nipples beneath its gossamer material.

The remaining clothing was removed in a frenzy of activity, pants, boots, dresses and undergarments piled in a mass of linen, silks, lace and nettings onto the wooden floor. Kylo knelt and took his place between Isabelle's legs as he tasted her, inhaling her scent and feeling the heat and wetness of her desire increase in response to the pressure of his lips and the probing of his tongue. She brought her hips towards his mouth, a silent request that his tongue be plunged deeper. Her movements caused a rhythmic shifting of the bedding which grazed against his cock, the friction of the soft material rubbing against his sensitive skin, hardening him further.

His gaze took on a feral quality as Elizabeth moved to straddle Isabelle's face, her pendulous breasts swinging forward as she cried out in response to the brunette's pink tongue, which had snaked out to lick at her velvety folds. Isabelle's fingers reached for the softness of the golden curls, moving gently against the bud of tissue which laid buried underneath. Her actions elicited a gasp from the younger woman, causing her to lean forward on all fours as she sank down to ride the face below her.

He ached as he stood, repositioning himself to bring Isabelle's legs to his shoulders, her puss on full display. She lay with her thighs spread, the area between them wet and begging to be filled. Kylo lowered himself into her slowly and stilled for a second as she stiffened, eventually relaxing as she adjusted to the intrusion. He had been gifted in many ways physically, and despite the number of times they had been together, it still took her a while to accommodate to his length and size. Discomfort gave way to a fullness and pleasure, and she began to writhe against him, rolling her hips as he pumped into her warm, slicked walls.

Their feverishness increased, the room becoming warm with their efforts, the scent of their sex filling the air, the sensations distorted further by their night of drinking. Kylo's movements became fiercer and more uncontrolled as he began rutting into Isabelle, thoughts of gentleness abandoned as he concentrated on the feeling of her muscles tightening around him. His lust caused her to moan wantonly, the vibrations of her vocalizations and panting further stimulating the woman who was crouched above her as the blonde ground her pelvis against Isabelle's face, painting it in broad, wet strokes. Isabelle, knowing that Elizabeth was nearing her release, gently pressed her fingers against the puckered ring of tissue in the space between her buttocks. Never having experienced the sensation before, the blonde was filled with simultaneous feelings of filthiness and fullness and she came, crying as she fell forward, the juices from her release spilling between her legs and onto Isabelle's lips.

Elizabeth rolled over, her abdominal and pelvic muscles still clenching in the waves of her orgasm as Kylo readjusted his position quickly, coming to lie on top of Isabelle. He leaned down and licked her face, his long tongue lapping at the shine on her neck and chin before taking the brunette's mouth into his own. The two dark heads moved against one another, seeking and probing, their hips grinding against one another. Both were reaching a peak, and his breath hitched suddenly as he felt a warm mouth pressing against his balls. Elizabeth had moved in back of the two of them, tonguing his sac and entering Isabelle's second hole in the manner in which Isabelle had done to her just minutes before. Kylo and Isabelle came simultaneously, grunting and crying out from the sensations of their release, the steady movements of Elizabeth's tongue and fingers behind them.

 

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

 

Kylo awoke to the sounds of an animal screeching, a desperate caterwauling which roused him from his semi-formed dreams. He opened his eyes as the cries persisted, trying to adjust to the darkness and the unfamiliar surroundings. He sat up, bumping against Isabelle in the process, her back pressed up against the bed and eyes wide as she clutched the sheets in front of her.

She was staring at Elizabeth, her blonde curls haloing her face and naked form pale in the moonlight, eyes wild and limbs shaking as she ransacked the room, seeking the relief she so desperately needed. _Just one drop_ , she seemed to beg, one drop to return to her opium induced bliss and to rid her of the nausea and pain she was currently experiencing. She was sweating, her agitation and anxiety palpable as she trembled. Kylo sprung out of bed, placing his arms around her to restrain her as she fought against him wildly.

"Bloody hell," he swore as she bit down on his forearm, drawing blood with the sharpness of her teeth. He could smell her fear as she thrashed against him, knocking them into the chairs which fell over and splintered on the floor. Elizabeth wailed again, and Kylo felt himself powerless against the strength of her withdrawal as he shouted to Isabelle.

"Damn it, Isabelle, where is the laudanum?"

Isabelle ran to search for the bottle, finally finding it wedged in the corner between the couch and the wall. The noise of their activities and Elizabeth's howls roused the other patrons as well as the innkeeper of the Elephant and Castle, and there was an angry knock on the door, a man's irate voice requesting to be let in.

"Everything's fine!" Kylo shouted, growling angrily as the knocking became more insistent. Elizabeth screamed for help, taking advantage of Kylo's momentary distraction to grab the bottle of Pernod Fils, throwing it in a poorly-aimed effort towards Kylo and shattering the glass against the wall.

The sound of a set of keys jangling against the door and Hux's warning of " _Ren, we are coming in_ ," were not enough to prepare the trio for the shocked faces which awaited them from the other side. Hux attempted to shield his eyes from the women's naked forms in a gentlemanly gesture. The innkeeper was apopletic upon seeing the destruction and debauchery: the green liquid pooling and staining the patterned rug amidst shards of broken glass; the delicate curves of the chairs transforming into jagged shards of mahogany and torn fabric; the compromise of a viscountess _in flagrante delicto_.

"We...just.rebuilt. After the fire!!!" His ruddy face was turning a shade of crimson.

Ren remained impassive, cock-sure and unrepentant despite the fact that he stood naked, his plug tail and tallywags visible for all to see.

"Not to worry, good sir. I am sure that Lord Ren will pay you a round sum to compensate for the damages _and_  your inconvenience." Hux placed his hand on the innkeeper's shoulders, attempting to assuage his anger.

At that moment, Lady Elizabeth Lewes felt the sweating increase as a suffocating sensation caused her stomach to heave. She proceeded to retch, the stench of her vomit filling the room and staining her skin as it dribbled onto the ground.

The innkeeper's face was now five shades darker. He could barely take in enough air to spit out the words as he shouted, the staccatoed sounds drawing additional curious gawkers into the hallway.

"God's teeth!! I care not a whit as to your name _or_ your title! Take you and your baggage, and get out of my establishment this instant!" He slammed the door forcefully to reinforce the finality of his decision.

Ren snatched the bottle of laudanum from Isabelle's shocked hands as he strode to retrieve his clothing, throwing it at Elizabeth's quivering form as he passed her in disgust.

 

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

 

Kylo's hand rested lightly against the teal-colored wrought iron fence as he ascended the steps of his family's London townhouse.  He hesitated as he reached the door.  It was centered between two pilasters, its red color contrasting with the clean hues of the Portland stone which surfaced the outside of the residence.  The home presented itself in a uniformed and orderly manner, so very different from the turmoil which raged within him.

He lifted the knocker and rapped it against the brass lion's head.  A familiar face greeted him as the door opened.

"Good afternoon, Daniels.  It is good to see you again."

The middle-aged male returned his greeting, his voice exuding propriety and competence in its dulcet tones.  "It is good to see you as well, Mister Kylo."

A handsome first footman stood by his side, his dark skin contrasting with the blue and white of his full morning livery.  He took Kylo's gloves and top hat as Kylo entered the foyer, the heels of his shoes echoing against the black and white marble floor.

"Finn,"  Kylo acknowledged, with a nod of his head.

"Your parents are just finishing their luncheon.  Would you care to join them?"

"No, thank you, Daniels.  I shall be in the study when they are finished."

"I will let the Marquess and Marchioness know that you have arrived, Mister Kylo."

Kylo walked past the dining room where his parents sat, the hardwood floors contrasting with the richly colored walls.  Crystal wall sconces and an elaborate chandelier provided light for the room in the dimmer hours of the day, while the china proudly displayed the family crest.  He walked to the back of the home and into the study, where he had always felt more at home.

Kylo looked around the room, trailing his finger along the spines of the well-worn books lined neatly within their shelves.  His breath hitched as he spied one hidden towards the back, its faded beige and orange cover doing little to protect the brittled pages underneath.  He pulled it out, his hands shaking slightly as its creased binding fell open to an illustration which he knew by heart.  Memories of a childhood friend, a sexual awakening, and the pain of a betrayal assaulted him as he closed the cover forcefully.  He tucked the book back in its place before it could stir up additional emotions which he had worked so hard to suppress.

He sat back in the wingbacked chair, trying not to fidget as he awaited the arrival of his parents.  He suddenly felt as if he were a ten year old, still wet behind the ears. 

He stood as he heard their approaching footsteps.  Lady Leia Organa-Solo and Han, Lord Organa-Solo, the Marquess and Marchioness of Alderaan, were still a beautifully handsome couple and respected members of the peerage.  He kissed his mother on the cheek.

"Hello, Kylo."  Leia's eyes were full of love, but there was also a sadness within their brown depths.

He tried to make a lighten the mood as he saw the seriousness in both of their countenances.

"I take it that you did not ask me over for afternoon tea, then?"  _What have I done now?_ he thought to himself.  He stretched out his legs as he sat back down, adopting a careless look that belied the apprehension which was creeping up within him.

Lea frowned.  "We received a most distressing message from Lord Lewes. It appears that the clod pates at _The John Bull_ have been blackmailing him regarding a delicate matter involving Lady Lewes."  Leia kept her eyes on Kylo, assessing his reaction, if any, to the news.  "It was a matter of great indiscretion.  Lord Lewes is beside himself, as you can well imagine."

Kylo held his tongue, not knowing how much his parents knew of the _extent_ of Lady Lewes' said indiscretion.

Han sighed as Kylo remained silent.  "Gambling, spending your nights ape-drunk and in the company of light-skirts.  You won't be able to keep your name out of the scandal sheets forever, Kylo.  Get your brains out of your ballocks, son."

Kylo's topaz eyes flashed dangerously.  That was rich, coming from his father.  Han was a well-known, notorious rakehell in the years before he finally settled down with Leia.

Leia spoke more gently, sensing her husband's hypocrisy. "You are our only son.  You are destined to carry forward all the achievements of this family and with it, our reputation. You also have responsibilities in the House of Commons, where you will be dealing with many of your counterparts. Your counterparts whose wives you may have compromised in the past."

She continued, her tone more firm.  "We want you to spend some time outside of London, away from all these temptations.  You need to revisit your priorities, Kylo.  Spend the time in the off-season to pull yourself together."

Kylo spoke slowly.  "Well, it would be nice to leave London for awhile.  Brighton would be a good alternative for the summer."

Leia shook her head.  "And what would you hope to accomplish in Brighton? You would still be surrounded by plenty of opportunities for gambling, drink, and bachelor fare."

Han spoke.  "We want you to go to Caserta Hall with us in the offseason.  Perhaps in spending some time there, you will learn the implications of your behaviors on our country seat."

Kylo smirked insolently.  "It's not as if I can be gamble Caserta Hall away."

Leia admonished him.  "That is true, Kylo.  However you must understand that the selfishness of your actions have implications not only on your reputation, but also on the finances of Caserta Hall. Your behavior directly impacts the tenants who live and work there.  Their livelihoods and well-being lie within your hands."

There was some frustration in his tone as Han muttered under his breath. "Perhaps we are partly to blame. We have loosened the reins for too long, Leia, all because Ba-"

He couldn't finish as Kylo flushed, flying into a rage.  He interrupted Han, respect for his father be damned.

"Don't you _ever_ speak that name in my presence again!" His knuckles whitened under his clenched fists, the muscle under his scarred cheek twitching in anger.

Han flinched, his annoyance at Kylo's blatant rudeness tempered by his sadness at his son's state.

Leia's lips were set in a thin line, anger and disapproval in her tone.  "Kylo Ren.  Your father and I have made a decision.  Use your time in Caserta Hall for introspection and atonement.  If you cannot demonstrate that you will be a wise and responsible future Marquess, if you cannot show a willingness to maintain the respect of our family's name, you shall subsequently be disinherited of that title and all the properties associated with it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *AU ages: Kylo is 28 and Rey is 18 for purposes of plot and the historical time period  
> 


	2. The Wager

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mark gone wrong changes the lives of everyone involved. 
> 
> [excerpt]:  
> 
> 
> She drew up, shouting at the pompous male. "I would _never_ lie with the likes of you!!"
> 
> Hux raised his brow. "Finally, Ren, a girl who is immune to your charms."

* * *

 

_**Style is the dress of thoughts; and let them be ever so just, if your style is homely, coarse, and vulgar, they will appear to as much disadvantage, and be as ill received, as your person, though ever so well proportioned, would if dressed in rags, dirt, and tatters** _

-Philip Stanhope, 4th Earl of Chesterfield

 

Caserta Hall sat on the southern edge of Northern Maridunshire.  The first site of the Hall had been occupied since the beginning of the13th century, and it was currently the seat of the Organa-Solo family, the Marquesses of Alderaan.  It encompassed an area of over two hundred square miles, running 20 miles north to south, and 8 to 15 miles in breadth.  The region was remarkable for its beauty and for the diversity of its scenery.

The northernmost tip was wild, containing the high, peaty moorlands, with the Marindunshire plains and the Mandalore mountain range visible on a clear day to the far north.  Caserta Hall itself was located in the central area of Caserta Old Park, bordered by the Endor Forest, ripe with game.  It sat on a hill with a commanding view of the fertile countryside, fed by the Kamino River.  The river was sourced at the southern edge of the moors before flowing in a southwesterly direction, crossing five noble seats in its meandering path.  There were also several market towns, primarily located in Caserta New Park, in addition to the numerous townships and nearly one hundred villages and hamlets.  The abundance of sandstone, shales and clay in the region, as well as other minerals and ore, made the market towns highly sought after repositories for pottery, metalwork and jewelry.

Kylo loved coming to Caserta Hall as a child.  Han, Leia, Kylo and his sister Phasma would make the three-day trip from London in a coach pulled by six Greys, the Organa-Solo coat of arms emblazoned on the door.  They spent their nights in coaching inns and their days on the road, traveling through the endless towns and farmlands until the terrain finally morphed into the rolling hills of Caserta Old Park.  He and Phasma would peek excitedly through the coach's windows as they neared the Grand Lodge, knowing that this last segment, a mile-long drive flanked by majestic oaks extending from the Grand Lodge to the Hall, finally signaled the end of their journey and the start of the off-season.

Caserta Hall was a beautiful, Palladian-styled home, its three-bayed center portico and great flanking wings spreading majestically over the top of the tallest hill. When he was very young, Kylo loved walking through Caserta's beautiful gardens filled with azaleas, mahonias and rhododendrons. He would throw pebbles into its lily ponds, marvel at its peacock-shaped topiaries, or kneel behind its hedges, hoping to catch Phasma in moment of surprise. He ran through its rooms while giving chase to his sister or Hux, the echoes of their shouts and the pattering of their feet ricocheting off the oak-panelled walls of the Great Hall. In the upcoming months, as the off-season progressed, the summer sounds of laughing children would eventually be replaced by autumnal visitors, winter balls and lavish parties filled with dancing and games and food and everyone in their best finery.

As they grew older, Kylo and Phasma would participate in the shooting season. Caserta's huge lands and mix of forests and moorlands blessed them with a large number of game, including plenty of grouse, pheasants, partridge and duck, and it was here where they learned how to wield a scattergun and a flintlock. Phasma took after her father, being an excellent markswoman. She rarely missed at fowling, and it was not uncommon for her to bag two. Kylo, although an admirable shot himself, took more after Leia, having an innate ability to sense the game birds from where they took cover and flush them into flight.

In the late autumn and winter months, when the fields lay fallow, the children participated in fox hunting season. Phasma resolutely refused to be part of the group of women awaiting at home for their men to return from the hunt. Some looked upon her as an oddity and others as the byproduct of indulgent and eccentric parenting. However, her peerage allowed her some additional security to ignore the more commonplaced notions of respectability.

Phasma had great courage and was highly skilled in tracking and jumping. She could always be found in front of the pack of tromping horses and excited hounds, her tall figure cutting an imposing and glorious image as she rode side saddle, cloaked in her scarlet riding habit. Her brother also enjoyed the thrill and speed of the chase. Despite his large size, Kylo was adept at riding thoroughbreds, whether for racing or for sport. He felt as one with the hot-blooded breed. Physically, their long necks, powerful chests, lean bodies and long legs mirrored his own. Spiritually, their boldness, agility and speed reflected his hardwired, animalistic grace.

One of the benefits of Caserta having the space and means to organize the hunts was that the Organa-Solo home became a center for the endless rounds of house parties during the off-season. Owners from neighboring areas who didn't have the amount of land or the means to conduct a successful run would participate, allowing the enhancement of social and political ties. The hunts also supported Caserta's local villages and market towns, creating a booming business for its taverns and inns, as well as financial support for the groomsmen, trainers, farriers, veterinarians and all others who were required to assist.

It was during an invitation to one of these runs where Kylo was first introduced to Sir Andrew Snoke, a baronet, and his daughter Bazine.

It was this particular introduction which would change Kylo's life irrevocably.

  
**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

 

Hux leaned back, finishing his bird and a bottle of ale, a contented look settling across the fine features of his face.  The tavern had more than sufficed for a quick snack.  The food of the city and on the battlefield were no match for the fresh meats and locally sourced dairy of the country, his satisfied stomach acknowledging its agreement.

A pleasured sigh left his lips. "That was wonderful.  It's been too long since I've had a proper meal."

Kylo smirked.  "And it's been too long since I've had a proper fuck.  Or an improper one, at that,"  he added as he watched a fine piece pass them by, her lashes fluttering and hips swaying invitingly in front of his appreciative eyes.

Hux laughed.  "Your ability to withstand such suffering is admirable, Ren.  How long has it been?  Two days?"

Ren grinned.  For the first time in over a week, he felt some of his tension and unease dissipate as he allowed himself to finally relax in his new surroundings.  Prior to Hux's arrival at Caserta, Ren had wandered its empty halls, unable to cope with the enormity of its quiet and the noise of his thoughts.  Han and Leia were not coming up for another month, until Parliament was adjourned.  The splitting of loyalties within the Whig party during the French Revolution and the upheaval following Pitt's death several years later required the couple to remain in London to help consolidate the party's ideals and eventual direction before they could join their son at Caserta.

Hux, recently promoted to Lieutenant General and serving under the great General Arthur Wellesley, seemed to have no problems in transitioning between his aristocratic and military lifestyles.  He managed to keep himself busy no matter his environs, in a way which Kylo envied.  Just this morning, Hux was up for nearly three hours before breakfast, busy working on his correspondence.

Whereas Kylo was....directionless.  Hux glanced at his friend as they paid for their meal.  Ren's strong features seemed at odds with his mouth, which seemed these days to be set in a perpetual downturn.  Even with all his indulgences, he never seemed to be truly pleased.  He wondered what happened to the mischievous and lively boy he once knew from their days at Westminster.

It was warm for July and the town was busy, a sign of prosperous times and the recent manufacturing boom. The two men cut dashing figures as they made their way through the throngs of townsfolk.

A figure furtively watched the pair's progress from the small alleys and the bylanes in which she hid.  She had sighted the men as soon as they had exited the tavern. One of the males was tall and lean, his straight posture and regal bearing lending additional height to his six foot frame.  His reddish-gold hair was neatly kept, sideburns trimmed, green eyes warm and kind, patrician features delicate and handsome.  The soft blue of his single breasted coat flattered the line of his shoulders, the plated buttons closing in on a slim waist.  The taller of the men was dressed in black, the collar of his shirt barely making its way up the length of his neck. The expensive cloth of his morning coat showed off the breadth of his shoulders and chest, and his black kerseymere breeches were neatly tucked into polished Hessian boots.  A scar cut across the angle of his right cheek, lending him a severity at odds with his age.  The impeccable cut of his clothes and the natural-born assurance with which he carried himself made her think that he was the wealthier of the two despite his unconventional appearance, and she set him as her mark.

She tucked in a stray hair underneath her well-worn cap, trying to ignore the hunger pains and noises originating from her stomach.  It was a stark contrast to these men, their bellies full, content with drink and snack.  Their clothes and posture indicated they lacked for little, if anything, in life.  They were high in the instep and plump in the pocket, pigeons ripe for the plucking. 

She continued to follow them stealthily, keeping her jacket close around her waist, her breathing quickening due to a flare of nervousness as well as the bindings which wrapped around her chest, her slim figure slipping in and out of the crowds.  She preferred to work alone, instead of being part of a swarm of thieves or bully cocks looking to misdirect and distract their prey, sharing in the spoils.  She was patient, knowing it would be a good score.  Her doggedness was rewarded when the pair stopped in front of a store window, to check on its wares.

She brushed against the taller of the men, the one with the fancy clothes and tell tale bulge in his pockets.  She bumped against his hard chest with a quick _"I'm sorry"_ as her hand simultaneously dipped into the slit of his morning coat.  She thrust her fingers in quickly, straight and stiff in their opening as she hooked them around its contents of the pocket, hoping for something of great value.  She experienced the heady rush of success along with the pitter patter of her heart as she withdrew her hand slightly and turned to walk away with her prize.

A firm hand grasped her wrist, twisting it painfully as the male brought her up against him.

"What have we here?" he sneered, eyeing her with disgust.

The girl's heart was in her throat.  She had mercifully dropped the watch and coin back into his pockets when she felt his huge hand on hers, an automatic response to the surprise and pain, and it was now empty, free from any incriminating evidence. She thought quickly, and began to scream.

"Take your hands off me, you wretched man!! I am not some strumpet, ripe and prone to venery!" She tried to wrench herself away from his grasp, causing her jacket to gape and her hat to fall.

She flinched as the man looked at her distastefully, and watched his eyes widen as he realized that the natty boy was actually a natty _girl_.  A young looking one at that, not even fully formed.  His handsome companion, ginger hair almost gold in the sun, laughed uproariously, although not altogether unkindly.

The dark male looked down, threat in his eyes. "I do not take kindly to pickpockets."

 

 

Their confrontation quickly brought a man to the girl's side.  He was heavyset with jowls which seemed to go on for days, glistening with sweat in the heat of the July sun.  A hulkey, clumsy and thick-headed fellow, with a surliness and boorish nature to match.

"My apologies for my ward's ill-behavior.  I can assure you that she meant you two gents no harm."  He dragged the girl back behind him as he stuck out a meaty hand, moisture on his palm.  Kylo looked at it in disgust at his impertinence, and the hand fell back to the man's side at the obvious insult from the noble.  He bent in a mock bow. "Unkar Plutt, at your service."

"No harm was done only because I caught that beggarly thief before she was able to pilfer my coin. What sort of a cullable fool do you take me for?"  He turned to the girl, looking at her as if in warning.  "A regular Moll Cutpurse, aren't you?  Are you aiming to spend the rest of your life in Newgate Prison?"

"She will be properly taken care of.  I assure you that it will not happen again."  Plutt looked at the two men, attempting to play to their compassions.  "It is the fault of the Marquess, and the financial stressors of the war, that so many of us go hungry and need to resort to such measures."

Hux broke in. "Do you know to whom you speak?  This is Lord Ren, Earl of Alderaan.  Son of the Marquess."

The man had the decency to look ashamed and slightly unnerved as the rolls of fat shook and shifted within the rough fabric of his coat.  "My apologies.  Perhaps we can find some way to appease My Lord."  He leaned forward, whispering so only Ren could hear.  "Perhaps the girl can provide a physical recompense of sorts."

Kylo looked at the man and girl in a mixture of surprise at Plutt's boldness and revulsion at the prospect.  The girl was too skinny, too tan, filthy and no doubt smelled of sweat and rot.  She looked to be no older than fourteen, with only the hint of budding breasts or child-bearing hips underneath her moth eaten jacket and tattered shirt.  He shuddered, to think that men would be as desperate to lay with something like that.  He answered Plutt, barely containing the rage and contempt from his voice.

"I would rather satisfy my needs with my hand than to lay with the likes of a child."

The girl visibly flinched at his brutal honesty.  She had until now avoided selling her body even as it betrayed her, the softness developing for years where she didn't want it to, which she desperately tried to hide with her bindings and mannish clothes.  She preferred to live on thievery or scavengery for as long as she could, and wanted to be no one's doxy, but his open look of horror and rude insults cut her to the core.

She drew up, shouting at the pompous male.  "I would _never_ lie with the likes of you!!"

Hux raised his brow. "Finally, Ren, a girl who is immune to your charms."

Ren's head tilted slightly as he assessed the girl, her hands fisted to her sides and anger flashing in her eyes.  He tried to place her accent.  It wasn't a Cockney, or rural Irish, or even a conservative American pronunciation, but an unplaceable mix of twang and sharpness and drawl.  His ruminations were cut short as the chit brought her head back and spit at his feet.  He watched in furious surprise at the frothy wetness which now marred the impeccable shine of his boots.

The heavy set gentleman reared back and hit the girl, knocking her to the ground.   "You ungrateful highte-tity!  Mind your manners!  Wipe the gentleman's boots."  He ushered her towards Ren's feet

Ren's eyes narrowed.  "That won't be necessary," his voice a mixture of anger and embarrassment as he took a handkerchief from his pocket, the cambric muslin material wiping off the offending liquid.

Hux stepped forward, not tolerating the physical assault against a female, pickpocket or not. He laid his hand on the heavyset male, gripping his shoulder tightly and painfully as a blatant warning.

Plutt took a step back.  "My apologies, gentlemen.  This girl, she is an orphan.  An American, with no family or manners to speak of.  It was only from the goodness of my heart that I took her in as my own, eight years ago.  As you can see, despite my efforts and good will, she is impossibly headstrong.  I am only trying to do my best, with what little I have."

At that moment, the constable approached.  There was a large crowd of curious onlookers and townsfolk surrounding them as well. 

"Is there a problem, My Lord?"

Hux pulled Ren aside.  He had seen his friend's eyes alight during the confrontation, replacing the dullness which had existed there for so long.  He had keenly observed Kylo's burgeoning interest and unwanted fascination with the girl, even as he was simultaneously angered and repulsed by her.

"Ren.  A word with you, if I may."

Hux whispered.  "The girl will surely be dead in several years, either at the hands of this brute, or as a syphilitic prostitute, or imprisoned in Newgate.  Why not offer her an alternative? Perhaps an apprenticeship with one of the staff at Caserta Hall?"

"She is an impudent chit, and worse. A mannerless thief. A gutter rat. A scavenger. And now you wish to bring her into my home?!"  Ren looked at Hux as if he had suddenly sprouted two heads.

The redhead persisted.  "Think of how you can use this to your advantage, Ren.  Plutt mentioned that there have been grumblings of discord against your family.  An act like this would be showing the lesser class a great consideration.  You, the benevolent son, concerned for the welfare of his tenants.  It would be a demonstration of good will and mercy. The act would be of little imposition on you personally, as you have the staff to train and watch over the girl closely."

Ren did not shut down Hux immediately.  "She is too old and ill-mannered to train. She shows no respect for those above her station.  I do not think anyone can change who or what she is, and I wouldn't want to burden my staff with such as task."

"She looks smart and quick, Ren.  If anyone could do it, I would bet on you."

Ren laughed, the sound of it slightly harsh and foreign.  "What, you would have me teach her how to be a scullery maid?"

Hux shook his head.  "Of course not.  Perhaps you could introduce her to the ways of the gentry.  Work to improve her manner and her dress.  With your guidance, and the resources at your disposal, I wouldn't be surprised if you could transform this pickpocket into a lady."

Ren snorted. "Yes.  She is the model of a docile, educated and refined woman."

"You have no desire to bed her. Perhaps an interaction with the fairer sex without such distractions would make you appreciate them in a different manner.  More importantly, you would be saving her from him," Hux jerked his head towards Plutt.  "And whatever lies ahead in her miserable life as it is."

Hux, ever the strategist, dared him with a gleam in his eyes.  "Unless you're not up to the challenge."

Ren's eyes flashed.  He was never one to back away from a contest. 

"I see what you're doing here, Hux.  However, I accept your challenge.  Not only will I do as you ask, we shall take her back to London when I am finished and pass her off to the ton."  His eyes gleamed wickedly at the thought of gammoning some of the simpering dandies and starched peers eager to find a mate in the upcoming Season.  "But I want something in return.  A gentleman's wager, if you will, which I will collect when I succeed."

Hux nodded slowly.  Fair was fair.

"If I accomplish this task, you will accept my invitation to an entertainment of my choosing once we return to London. No refusals."

Hux sighed as they shook hands. "Agreed."

The two men turned back to the crowd.  Ren spoke with the constable.

"I have decided not to press charges.  The girl, however, must show remorse for her actions and make an effort to turn from her wayward path.  As a show of faith and good will, I am offering her an apprenticeship at Caserta Hall.  My family and I would be responsible for taking over her care from hence forward."

Plutt eyed the man warily.  The girl was one of the best pickpockets in his coterie of thieves, and to lose her would significantly lighten his coffers.  "I beg your forgiveness, My Lord.  This girl is indispensable to me. She helps me with the other children, she brings food to our table. I rescued her when she was but a starving mudlark in London. I clothed her, fed her, and trained her out of the goodness of my heart for nearly half of her life. I would be under the hatches for all my troubles were she to leave."

Ren's lips tightened at his greediness.  "Yes, I can see very well how much she means to you.  Perhaps this will cover the costs of your efforts?"  He held out a purse, heavy with coin.  He opened it slightly, allowing the flash of gold to glint in the sun.  Plutt's hands trembled and the girl held her breath.  Neither of them had ever seen so much, in one place.

Sarcasm dripped from Ren's voice.  "The purse, for your troubles, Plutt.  And only if the girl is agreeable."

The girl weighed her options.  Although she was angry that they were haggling over her like a Jenny on the auction block, she was smart.  If she were to stay with Plutt, she wouldn't be able to hide the curves of her body much longer.  Her clothing had started to nip and flare in certain locations, even with her bindings in place. Her womanly form could subject her to the goatish tendencies of both her fellow thieves as well as angered marks.  Plutt, cruel and avaricious, had been looking to employ her as a buttock and file for some time, sensing her potential to simultaneously fleece and satiate the pleasures of men. 

She was not familiar with the two gentlemen who currently offered her a way out, although the constable appeared to be well-acquainted with the larger male, as were many of the townspeople.  The ginger-haired gent also seemed to have a kindness to his countenance, and his green eyes watched her encouragingly.

She took a deep breath. To be freed from Plutt, to have a chance at another life, even at the mercy of a complete stranger, was an opportunity she couldn't refuse.

"I am grateful for your kindness, My Lord. I gladly accept your offer."

With her decision made, Ren opened the strings of his purse, the guineas raining down on the cobbled street, their stamped backs bouncing melodically against one another as Plutt fell to the ground, desperate to collect the rolling coins.

The girl stared, mouth agape, wondering how she could have missed such a prize.

Kylo turned, smirking as he read her thoughts and whispered into her ear, his breath hot against her cheek.

_"You chose the wrong pocket."_

She clenched her fists by her sides.  The man was _infuriating_.

He watched the flash of temper flit across her face and almost laughed.  He suddenly realized he had no idea how to address her.

"I am Lord Ren, Earl of Alderaan, and this is Lord Hux, 3rd Earl of Corellia. And your name?"

She swallowed hard as she watched him, his dark eyes staring at her intently as he awaited her answer. She was suddenly self-conscious of her dirty and disheveled state and pulled her jacket around her defensively as if to protect herself from his gaze.  She wondered briefly if she should have stayed with Plutt instead as she squeaked out her answer, her throat suddenly dry.

"Rey Kenobi, My Lord."


	3. The Mudlark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey arrives at Caserta. Dinner is served with a side of UST...
> 
> [excerpt]:  
> The muscles in his forearms tensed as he steadied her movement, and his breath hitched as he felt her body press against his. He used his free arm to pull her into a standing position, the touch from his gloved hand and the heat which emanated from underneath the smooth fabric causing her pulse to quicken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many thanks to the wonderful CorsucantOgre, who has graciously offered her time and knowledge to beta read this chapter :) xo

* * *

**_Character must be kept bright as well as clean_ **

                                                               -Philip Stanhope, 4th Earl of Chesterfield

 

"Aiyee! Stay away from me, you Mistress Princum-Prancium!"

Rey gripped the remains of her tattered clothing close to her body, growing progressively more alarmed as the thin fabric tore from under the group of hands which were actively working to pull them off of her.

An older woman looked at her kindly but firmly, her gaze brokering no dissension.

"My name is Mrs.Kanata. I am the housekeeper at Caserta. Mister Kylo has given us very strict orders. You are to be bathed and then dressed for dinner." Ever the consummate professional, her face remained schooled and unflappable despite the girl's state of hygiene and the foul language being spewed from her mouth.

Rey fought furiously against the traitorous tears which threatened to spill from her eyes.  She wouldn't cry.  She _refused_. But her clothing, as torn and dirty and ill-fitting as they were, was all that she had left of her own. For the second time in eight short years, all of her belongings and the familiarity of her surroundings and routine were being stripped away. She was left standing, nearly naked in her humiliation, in front of Mrs. Kanata as well as several other strangers who moved quietly in and out of the room, drawing the curtains and bringing up buckets of heated water for her bath.

"Please," she pleaded, ashamed that she had to be reduced to begging. "These are all that I have."

Mrs. Kanata's voice softened, but she remained resolute. She signaled the maids to remove the pile of rags on the floor. "Mister Kylo has also requested that your clothes are to be disposed of when we are done."

How dare that hard-hearted nib get rid of her things without consulting her! Anger and fear warred within Rey. She briefly contemplated picking the rags off the floor herself and fleeing, before she realized the futility of such an action.

Mrs. Kanata sensed her discomfort. She gestured to a pretty young woman who stood to her right. The girl's face was kind, with lively eyes which observed all around her, her dark brown hair pulled neatly into a bun.

"This is Jessika. She is Miss Organa-Solo's personal maid. She will be assisting you with your bath and dress.

Jessika's voice was good-natured but with a hint of spunk. "Mister Kylo has asked us to provide you with some of Miss Organa-Solo's clothing until you are able to purchase something suitable in their place."

Rey flushed, feeling embarrassed that she had thought so poorly of her host. Her discomfiture was made greater when Mrs. Kanata made a "tsking" sound upon seeing the cloth strips which were bound tightly around Rey's chest.

Mrs. Kanata spoke gently. "You poor girl. What have you had to endure in your life to do such a thing?" Her hands worked deftly to unwrap the stained material, freeing Rey's sore breasts from the confines of their tight and sweaty prison.

Jessika brought Rey to the edge of the copper tub, where she eyed its steaming contents suspiciously. She couldn't decide which was worse: standing naked in front of a group of strangers, or entering a bath where she was likely to be boiled. Bathing was an infrequent occurrence in her life, generally performed once a month, in which she shared in the cold and dirtied waters with the other children after Plutt's doxies had taken their turns. She had also experienced the occasional joy of cleaning her body by the banks of the rushing Kamino River in warmer weather. But she had never enjoyed the luxury of a private bath, and a heated one at that.

Rey dipped her foot in tentatively, drawing it back quickly in response to its temperature, watching as the water turned dark at the site of her entry while her toe turned pink.

"Miss Rey, either you will get yourself into the bath this instant, or we're going to put you in forcibly." Mrs. Kanata's mouth was drawn in a firm line. The woman was commanding, having had many years of experience in dealing with the Organa-Solo children as well as the responsibility of keeping the rest of the female household staff in line.

Rey visualized Ren's self-satisfied smirk at her indecisiveness and she lowered herself in, stubbornly refusing to give even the slightest bit of satisfaction to his imaginary self.

Another bucket of water was poured over her head. Rey winced as Jessika ran a comb over her knotted hair, painfully working through the tangles. A cavalcade of maids repeatedly refreshed the dirtied water. Once Rey's skin was scrubbed raw, Jessika brought over a bar of soap. It was soft, made of mutton fat and wood ash, and smelled of sweet flowers and herbs. The soap perfumed the water and Rey's skin with its softness, and she allowed herself a contented sigh as its rose fragrance saturated the air, tickling her nose and soothing her sore muscles.

Once Mrs. Kanata had deemed Rey to be thoroughly cleaned, she was led to a room to get dressed. Jessika was talkative, her dark brown eyes flashing excitedly.

"I am to be your abigail, as Miss Organa-Solo is not due to return to Caserta until the fall." She whispered conspiratorially "I've taken the liberty of picking out some of her clothing from years past which may fit you. They are of a slightly older style, as Mister Kylo's sister is much taller than you, but they are not totally unfashionable. Mister Kylo says that we are to go shopping for something more à la mode this week!"

She proceeded to hold up four or five dresses in front of Rey, in various colors of yellows and soft blues before settling on a white muslin shift delicately embroidered with Greek key patterns on the hem and banded sleeves. Rey was glad for Jessika's assistance, feeling completely lost as she stared at the unfamiliar garments and accessories. A pair of flesh colored pantaloons were slipped over her slim legs, followed by a chemise to smooth the lines of her dress. A long corset was then positioned into place. Rey held her breath as Jessika cinched the undergarment, its whalebone busk and criss-cross lacing creating a lift to her bosom and providing a straightness to her posture. The elegant gown was finally placed over her underthings, its filmy material drawn high underneath her chest, her bust further highlighted by its square décolleté neckline. A separate skirt was attached to the back, with a small bustle pad providing a shapely lift.

Once Jessika was satisfied with her ensemble, she began to work on Rey's hair.  She brushed through the shining and softened locks, parting it in the center and piling it high on top of her head.  She created an intricate basket weave pattern in the back, threading a string of seed pearls throughout the delicate strands, and finished the look with a few hanging wisps to frame her face.

She stepped back, frowning slightly at Rey's tanned complexion and the smattering of freckles across her cheeks.  There was no need for a vegetable rouge due to the natural pink which highlighted its curve.  Jessika opened a silver cachou box and applied a salve made of wax, almond oil and alkanet to Rey's lips, softening and tinting them and leaving them smelling of roses.

Jessika handed her a pair of silken long, white long gloves. She laughed delightedly as she admired her handiwork, leading Rey to a mirror to see the finished result.

Rey had not known much vanity in her lifetime, but she could not refrain from gasping at her reflection. The simple classical lines of the dress showed off her natural beauty, the white fabric set against the tan of her skin. The cut of the neckline was barely decent, and made more so as the dress was still too big for her delicate frame, causing it to hang even lower than its designer had intended. The volume of the skirt was full, increasing the flare of her hips. Dainty puff sleeves barely capped the slimness of her shoulders, highlighting the shape of her arms. The gown's material clung to the softness of her curves, and the flesh tones of her stockinettes gave the appearance that she was wearing no undergarments under the sheerness of the dress. Her face looked fresh and windblown, her doe shaped eyes slightly lined and tinged at the lash line, making her hazel eyes wider and more mysterious.

"Jessika--thank you," she breathed, her voice wavering.  She couldn't remember ever feeling so coddled or so beautiful.

"One more thing, Miss Rey." Jessika handed her a pair of shoes. They were made of a striped silk and trimmed with a leather covered heel. Jessika frowned slightly at the fit, as they were too long and wide for Rey's small feet.

"We will need to look into shoes for you as well." Still, she smiled, extremely pleased. "Wait until Mister Kylo sees how you look at dinner!"

Rey descended down the steep staircase, holding the train of her gown carefully so as to not to trip over its length. She felt her nerves flare, conscious of the slapping sound which resulted from the back of her overly large shoes slipping off her heel with each step. The noise seemed to grow louder as she approached the dining room, echoing her nerves and the pounding of her heart like the thud of a bass drum announcing her arrival.

A young man stood by the door, his handsome form surveying the dinner table which was already covered with multiple dishes and platters.

Jessika whispered.  "That is Dopheld, Mister Kylo's valet. He is serving as both the butler of Caserta and Mister Kylo's valet until Mr. Daniels returns from London with the Marquess and Marchioness." Rey noted Jessika's wistful tone as well as the way her eyes lingered on the attractive male.

Hux acknowledged Rey with a slight bow of his head and a delighted look in his eyes.

"You look lovely, Miss Kenobi." Rey couldn't hide the blush which creeped up her face at his praise.

Kylo turned as he heard Hux's greeting. He drew his breath in sharply as he saw her, his eyes widening in surprise. She looked nothing like the dirtied street urchin from that fateful afternoon. He had the sudden realization that she was older, and definitely more shapely, than he had previously thought. Her dress revealed her slim and lithe form as well as the roundness--and what he could only imagine would be the firmness--of her pert breasts, which were fully on display in the squared neckline of her gown.

She looked natural and guileless as her eyes lifted, awaiting his approval.

She looked _beautiful._

He didn't realize that he was holding his breath until he exhaled, quickly pushing away his inappropriate thoughts as he frowned.  He scrutinized her dress further, and made a mental note to discuss Rey's future--more _appropriate_ \-- clothing choices with Jessika once he had the chance.

Rey felt a slight disappointment at his silence, her ego and vanity bruised as he continued to watch her, his full lips pressed into a frown. She was chagrined with his lack of reaction as well as with her desire for his validation.  Her irritability dissipated, however, once they were seated and when she saw the foods which were laid out in front of her.

Their first course was an artichoke soup, a creamy, yellow-green concoction dotted with leeks, shallots and potatoes. Accustomed to eating quickly whenever and wherever she could, her instincts took over as she brought the bowl to her lips, her empty stomach welcoming its savory contents.  She sighed as the warm and delicious potage flowed through her.   Her bliss was suddenly interrupted by a muffled sound from Hux, his spoon in his hand and soup untouched.  She looked up and saw Ren's eyes narrowed in disapproval, his face registering a mixture of mild amusement and distaste.

Kylo cleared his throat.  No matter how she cleaned up on the outside, the girl was in desperate need of some manners and etiquette.

"I see that we will need to start your lessons immediately. I will have Mrs. Kanata interview several candidates tomorrow."  He asked her a question, not expecting an answer in the affirmative. "Have you had any previous schooling?"

Rey hesitated. "Yes. I was fortunate enough to attend a Girl's Academy growing up in America." 

"A Girl's Academy? Is that a type of American finishing school?" asked Hux.

Rey shook her head.  "No, quite the opposite in fact.  Our teachers believed in providing us with an education equal to that of men by holding us to the same standards.  We had lessons in various subjects, including reading, history, arithmetic and moral philosophy."

Kylo was surprised at her revelation.  He kept his tone deceptively casual as he pushed for further information.

"So how did you, an educated American, end up here, mixed up with the likes of Plutt?"

Rey held her breath.  She had not been prepared to divulge all the details of her past, although she knew that he was entitled to at least the courtesy of a response and an honest answer as her new guardian.

"My family made the trip to England when I was ten.  The ship was crowded, with unsanitary conditions, and we fell ill, with fever and delirium."  Her voice became quiet. "It was the Putrid Fever.  So many on the journey became afflicted.  We were stripped naked and doused in cold water.  Even bloodletting did not help the condition of my parents or my sister. I was the only one of my family who survived."  She stopped as fought against the painful memories.

"I had nothing and no one when I arrived in London.  I became a mudlark, scavenging the Thames for anything which could be sold.  Occasionally, when things were especially desperate, I resorted to pilfering from the river traffic."  She had a guilty look on her face.  "My skills were noticed by Plutt, and he recruited me and taught me--those additional talents I needed to survive as one of his bulk and file."

She finished, embarrassed but glad that her sordid history was finally out. The servants continued about their duties, as if they were oblivious to the details of their conversation.  She waited to hear the censure and disgust from the two gentlemen, but found none.

Hux murmured sympathetically. "I have seen many a horror befall even the greatest of men during times of war. I cannot imagine what you must have had to endure as a child following the loss of your family."

Kylo grunted his agreement but refrained from delving further.  He had no wish to become personally invested in the girl, although he had become her guardian in a manner of speaking.  His dealings with her were supposed to be limited to the requirements of a simple bet, a relationship which he could manipulate from afar with the assistance of the hired help.  If he were to flatter himself, his participation in her planned transformation was a way to showcase his compassion for those less fortunate than himself. If he were to be honest, his involvement was simply due to the fact that he hated the idea of losing even a casual challenge.

He lived his life shunning emotional ties to any woman who wasn't his mother or sister.

And yet, upon learning of Rey's loss, an unwanted sympathy and protectiveness welled up inside of him.  He grew quiet, watching her carefully as she and Hux made pleasant conversation, her voice soft and occasionally punctuated by a tentative smile.  He saw as she carefully monitored Hux's table manners, her delicate and nimble fingers expertly mimicking his form and movement.  He noticed the surprise on her face as she tasted the roasted meats of the second course, expertly seasoned with rare spices, followed by her look of pleasure as the tender morsels fell apart and rolled within the heat of her mouth.  He observed as she savored the fresh vegetables, plucked from the garden and drowned in butter, her delicate throat moving upwards to swallow mouthfuls of the fresh sprigs slathered in their rich sauce.  He witnessed her delight at the display of fruits and marzipan, her fingers fluttering to the corners of her mouth at the soupçon of honeyed almond confection which collected there and which she erased with a quick swipe of her pink, wet tongue.  He gazed at her expression of rapture when, as the meal entered its third hour, she experienced capillaire for the first time, the syrupy, orange-flavored spirit moistening and reddening her lips and causing her eyes to dilate and her skin to flush, making him hard and aroused at the sight.

She noted him watching her, hungrily and intently, and she parted her lips as if to speak but remained wordless, drowning in his stare.

He caught her eye.  He shifted in his seat as he downed a glass of claret, and when he spoke, his face was hardened and stern, his manner brusque.

"The hour is late, Rey.  You have a long day ahead of you in your studies tomorrow."

Kylo had also determined that _while_ Rey was busy with said studies, he would head back into town for a good, hard and long overdue _fuck_.

Hux rose, bowing his head slightly in Rey's direction.  "I also need to prepare for my trip back to London tomorrow.  I'll be in the library, Ren." He smiled at Rey. "Good night, Miss Kenobi."

Rey stood, replacing her gloves as she prepared to walk back to her room.  The fatigue of the events of the day finally caught up to her, and her full belly and the fermented beverage left her feeling slightly woozy and warm.  She prepared to ascend the staircase, when Jessika touched her arm gently, indicating that Kylo should proceed up ahead of her.

"So he can't catch a glimpse of your ankles, Miss Rey."

Rey almost sighed out loud.  She wondered if she would ever be able to learn everything it took to be a 'proper' lady, or whether she would end up dishonored, a failure to both herself and Lord Ren.  She held the voluminous fabric of the gown as lifted her feet on the steps, nearly making it to the top before her too-large shoe caught the fabric, pinning it against the edge of the landing and propelling her forward.  She reached out in front of her in an attempt to stop her movement, becoming entangled in the overflowing silk and ruffled petticoats, grabbing Ren's arm and nearly knocking him over in the process.

The muscles in his forearms tensed as he steadied her movement, and his breath hitched as he felt her body press against his.  He used his free arm to pull her into a standing position, the touch from his gloved hand and the heat which emanated from underneath the smooth fabric causing her pulse to quicken.  He stared at the front of her gown which had been lowered by the pull of her shoe, exposing her chemise and her corseted breasts and he nearly growled as he tore his gaze from her bosom back to her face.

His voice was husky with want and desire.  "Never mind your lessons.  We will need to find something more suitable for you to wear tomorrow."

Later that night, as Rey lay in bed, her mind was at odds with her exhausted body.  She should have fallen immediately into an unfettered sleep on the fresh linens which Jessika had laid out for her, in the comfort of a soft mattress and the security of her own bed.  Instead, unsettling thoughts filtered into her dreams, of a dangerous and dark man who held her briefly in his arms, whose stare caused her heart to race, whose wicked smile caused her stomach to flutter, and whose touch caused her breath to quicken.  She thought of a man whose involvement in her life was the result of a careless wager with his best friend, and whose ultimate goal was to marry her off to another stranger in another city in the course of less than a year.

Rey wondered if meeting Kylo and coming to Caserta was perhaps the biggest mistake of her life.

Little did she know that downstairs, as Hux indulged in a glass of port and a cheroot, Kylo sat with his friend, moody and quiet, his drink untouched, wondering the very same thing.


	4. Lonely Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A change in the weather forces a change in their plans.
> 
>  
> 
> [excerpt]:  
> Kylo laughed, the deep baritone of his voice reverberating through the din.
> 
> "You are mistaken in your presumption. I am Lord Ren, Earl of Alderaan. Miss Kenobi is my ward. Unfortunately, we were caught in the rain and are unable to make our way back home. We seek lodging for the night."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End notes were added to address concerns involving the last scene  
> 

* * *

  ** _Sex: the pleasure is momentary, the position ridiculous, and the expense damnable_ **

                                                                                                                      -Philip Stanhope, 4th Earl of Chesterfield

 

“He’s exquisite, Ren. He’s got the makings of an amazing jumper.”

It was a beautiful summer morning, the sweet fragrance of the alba roses and cuisse de nymph perfuming the air along with the smell of freshly baked goods. Hux took a bite of baked egg and the homemade bread, allowing himself to indulge in the tranquility of his surroundings. He would be missing this greatly as he was scheduled to return to London, a private carriage already on its way to pick him up at noon.

Caserta Hall had been bustling with the noise of activity since dawn. The cooks were milling about, heating the stoves, boiling the water and preparing a sumptuous breakfast. The chambermaids busied themselves with more menial tasks, changing the bed linens, drawing the curtains, and changing the chamber pots. Outdoors, the dairy maids were milking the cows and churning the butter, its sweet and creamy yellow blush contrasting with the white of the ironstone plates which sat on top of the breakfast table. Some of the groundskeepers were clipping the lines of hedges, maintaining their orderly and geometric shape, while others manipulated the topiaries into the forms of wild and mystical beasts. The gardeners tended to the greenhouse vegetables, picking the ones which hung heavily from their vines and with the most perfect flesh, as requested by the chefs.

Ren had also been occupied, having met with Mrs. Kanata and Dopheld in lieu of Leia’s presence. He reviewed their plans for dinner, accounted for the payments for the milled flours and teas, and outlined his requirements for Rey’s prospective tutors. He subsequently discussed the state of the pheasants and the fowling grounds with the gameskeeper in preparation for the upcoming hunts before heading off to the stables to meet Hux. Following their morning ride, Hux had checked out Ren’s new acquisitions, including a prized Lipizzan stallion. The colt’s black coat beginning to show the faintest of lightening, a hint of the dappled gray to come. He was a fine specimen, with eyes that were large and expressive, a broad chest and muscular withers, and a tail which was high and well set.

Kylo nodded proudly. “He will be larger than most, possibly approaching 16 hands. But he’s nearly three. He’ll have to learn how to take a rider, and soon.”

Hux’s looked thoughtful. “I know of someone with the expertise you seek. Colonel Dameron was a member of the 5th Regiment of Dragoon Guards under Lieutenant General Cotton. We fought together in Salamanca. His skill and fearlessness is unequaled as both a cavalry officer and a man. Perhaps I can convince him to join us for the Riding of the Hounds when I return to Caserta.”

Ren nodded his assent. “I would greatly appreciate his assistance in this matter. Please let Colonel Dameron know that he would be welcome to stay with us at Caserta for the duration of the off-season should he choose to provide it.”

Since this was their last meal together, Ren had requested that breakfast be brought outdoors. The servants had hauled the tables, chairs, and china near the gardens. The chafing dishes were filled with fresh meats, eggs, plum cake, and breads, to be consumed along with chocolate coffee, tea and freshly brewed ale or diluted wine. Rey was not accustomed to eating so much or at such a late hour, if at all. Typically, her hunger pangs would rouse her from her sleep; she would eat whatever scraps were available and head out to buz the streets with the other knuckles and rum divers. Those could be long days, and an unsuccessful one could mean a still-empty belly at night at best, or catching the displeasure of Plutt’s fist at worst. Life at Caserta was a world apart from a pickpocket's life and the Plutts of the world.

Jessika had dressed her in a sensible morning gown made of sprigged muslin. Much to Ren's relief, its round form and high neck were much less revealing than the gown from the night before. He noticed that she appeared almost childlike, swallowed up in the excess of the material as well as the opulence of her surroundings. He found that he missed the determined and feisty girl who had the audacity to spar with him in the streets, and sympathy reared itself once more as he realized how lonely and out of place she must have felt.

He turned to her, the angles of his face softening as his lips curved into a gentle smile. “I was thinking of taking the curricle to meet with the seamstress this afternoon. It’s a beautiful day. It would be a fun and pleasurable ride into town for the both of us.”

Rey’s heart jumped, delighted at his invitation. She had no idea what a curricle was, but with his smile he could have offered her a ride in a yarmouth-coach and she would have gladly accepted it.

Hux sensed her question. “A curricle is similar to one of your American runabouts, only it's drawn by two horses and has two wheels instead of four. It’s fast, and it's fun. Despite it being driven by Ren, I would highly recommend it.”

Ren’s brow lifted at Hux’s remark, but his retort was cut short as he saw Rey’s eyes light at the prospect.

“I would love to, My Lord. It’s been many years since I’ve been either on top of or in back of a horse. It’s an activity which I greatly enjoyed as a child.”

“Perhaps you can arrange a visit to the stables later in the week for Miss Kenobi, Ren." Hux turned to Rey, with a hint of mischievousness in his voice. "He is quite the horseman, both as an owner and a rider.”

Ren replied carefully, drinking his coffee. “Perhaps. If you work hard and do well in your studies, Rey.”

Rey shot Hux a grateful look, appreciative of his thoughtfulness. Her stomach clenched suddenly at the realization that he would be leaving, and that she would be without his friendly and comforting presence.

She stared down into the tea which swirled slowly within her cup.  “How long will you be away, Lord Hux?”

“Two, perhaps three months. I have been asked to assist with the line infantry of the Chasseurs Britanniques.”

“I wish for your safe and speedy return,” Rey replied, her eyes showing a genuine concern for his well-being. 

“I will be sure to do so, if only to see how far you have come under Ren’s tutelage.” Ren could almost hear the wink in Hux's voice with that statement.

Kylo was surprised at the slight flare of jealousy he felt as he noted their easy rapport. If he thought about it further, their behavior could even be construed as mildly flirtatious. Hux was his best friend, and if he had more than a casual interest in Rey, he shouldn't begrudge him the opportunity.  Hux was a good and proper man, born into Irish aristocracy, who had inherited his father's coloring, charm and intelligence but who had luckily avoided his progenitor's cruel streak. Hux was a constant who, in their school days and even now, provided an emotional buttress against Kylo’s unruliness and boldness. Any woman would consider herself lucky to be on the receiving end of his friend's affections.

Besides, Ren reminded himself, he himself had no personal interest in the girl beyond making sure that she was turned into a proper lady, to be married off and out of his life by the end of the Season.

Later that morning, Hux had clasped Kylo's hand when his carriage arrived, whispering a reminder laced with the mildest bit of reproach.

“Take care of our girl, Ren. She is your responsibility now.”

Kylo noted the use of the word _'our,'_ and found that his feelings of jealousy and possessiveness remained unabated, even as Hux’s carriage disappeared in the distance.

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

“No.”

The modiste frowned. This was the fourth design which the young noble had flatly rejected.

She looked at Kylo, puzzled by the unreadable expression on his face and his response to the beautiful gowns which were brought out and modeled by the young woman in front of him. She had practically salivated when he first walked into her shop with his ward, immediately determining that the handsome male was a man of both great means and excellent taste. His clawhammer coat was exquisitely tailored, and his nanskin breeches were cut on the bias, snugly fitting the length of his leg. He obviously appreciated refinement in his dress and the ability to show off his considerable assets in the garments he wore. The girl would also be a delight to clothe, her natural beauty and slim figure providing an exquisite canvas for a designer's work.

Her years of experience in dealing with the aristocracy and her pride in her craft allowed her to challenge him, despite the look of annoyance which flit across his face at her mild impertinence.

“If I may, Lord Ren. Perhaps it would be more productive if you gave me an idea of the style of dress which you feel is most appropriate for Miss Kenobi instead?”

“The Viscountess of Onderon wore a delightful ensemble which was published in Ackermann’s last month.”

The seamstress nearly choked back her surprise. The Viscountess of Onderon was edging out of her sixties and had a persistent dour look on her face which also translated into her clothes.

“The Viscountess is—shall we say—of a much more matronly type. If she were in Ackermann’s, I am certain that it was not as a fashion plate. A selection from _La Belle Assembleé_ would be more _au courant_ for someone of the young lady’s age. Shorter hemlines and ruffling would enhance her femininity. With her face and the proper clothing, the Patronesses of Almack’s would no doubt give her éclat for the upcoming Season.”

Kylo glared. Having lived with two women for most of his life and having had plenty of experience in dealing with many others in various states of undress, he felt that he was a more than appropriate judge of the female aesthetic, clothing included.

Rey looked up at Kylo, pleading for some compromise, and he finally relented upon seeing her distress. While many of the dresses were bordering on the ridiculous with their overabundance of tassels and bows and heavy embroidery, he knew she deserved something of high quality which suited her sensibilities.  Having lacked those things which would make her feel beautiful and desired for much of her life, he wanted to be the one to finally provide them for her. He turned to the dressmaker gruffly.

“Nothing with too much ornamentation which would threaten to overwhelm her delicate features. Aside from that stipulation, I leave the color and design choices between you and the young lady.”

Several hours later, and with plans for fifteen dresses in hand, Kylo and Rey exited the store. The sky at that point had darkened ominously, with a thickness and the smell of an impending summer storm in the air.

Kylo looked at Rey. “We need to find some lodging quickly, as well as protection for the horses. Although the two are a good six-mile-an-hour pair, we will not be able to reach Caserta before the storm overtakes us.” He didn’t add that his calculations only applied if the horses were to remain on a smooth road. The path to town included many uneven and rutted sections which would muddy further with the rain, placing the single axle vehicle and its occupants at risk and making them fodder for the gangs of highwaymen who hid in the woodlands.

Rey looked up and placed a gloved hand on his arm to reassure him of his decision. “Whatever you feel is best, My Lord.” A drop of water landed on her cheek, fat and heavy, wetting her lashes. She whooped and laughed as the sky opened up its floodgates, the deluge falling furiously in the warmth of the late summer afternoon.

The heat of her touch and her joyousness caused Kylo's pulse to quicken. After successfully finding shelter for the horses, he and Rey ran through the streets, seeking occasional cover from under the trees and in the vestibules of various shops as the rain pelted down, seemingly to hit them from above and below. Rey hiked up her skirt as the material began to cling heavily along her legs, and Kylo failed in his attempt to avoid looking at them as he used the height and breadth of his body to provide at least a minimal amount of coverage for her as they ran. By the time they reached an inn, their clothes were in a bedraggled and dismal state, their faces flushed with their efforts.

Mrs. Sykes, a plump and rubicund woman who prided herself in upholding a certain moral standard in her husband's inn despite its oftentimes motley clientele, stared at the couple suspiciously. Kylo's hair hung long and wet against his face, a bluish black in the light. He looked no less threatening as he pushed the dripping locks aside, unveiling his scarred complexion. Rey herself was in a state of dishabille, every line and curve of her body highlighted by the weight of the sodden garments and their improper fit.

The older woman shook her head as she eyed the bedraggled couple, pursing her lips as she saw Kylo's hand lingering inappropriately on Rey's arm.

"I am sorry, sir," she said, her look belying her words. "But I am a supouch, not a lady abbess. We run an honest establishment here."

Kylo laughed, the deep baritone of his voice reverberating through the din.

"You are mistaken in your presumption. I am Lord Ren, Earl of Alderaan. Miss Kenobi is my ward. Unfortunately, we were caught in the rain and are unable to make our way back home. We seek lodging for the night."

Kylo couldn't resist needing the older woman as her face reddened. "You may provide us with a bundling board, or a bag, if that would make you feel more comfortable with our circumstances."

Mr. Sykes, twice as plump as his wife, waddled forward. He cleared his throat, throwing an angry look at her in the process.

"Now, now, My Lord. That will be entirely unnecessary. Please accept our deepest apologies." He handed a key to a man with an unobtrusive but dull face and a personality to match. "We have one room remaining, one of our finest. My son James will show you the way."

Rey turned to follow. A young woman was staring unabashedly at Kylo, an unmistakable look of desire in her eyes. She was fresh faced and buxom, her hands not yet roughened by years of hard work.

James spoke to the entranced girl, exasperation in his tone. "Come now, don't dawdle." He whispered to Kylo. "My wife. She is a fair-roe-buck and a damned good piece, but unfortunately a bit of a blank."

One of Mr. Sykes' 'finest rooms' turned out to be one which was modestly furnished, with a small table and a double bed which looked to be too short for Kylo's tall frame. A threadbare couch was positioned near the fireplace, which looked quite pleasant as the layers of damp clothing gave way to a chill against their skin.

The proprietor's son angled his head down the hallway. "There is private area with a pot at the end, or the gentleman may prefer to use the outhouse instead." He left the key on the table and let himself out.

Kylo and Rey enjoyed a surprisingly satisfying meal of harrico of mutton and goose with apples and prunes before retiring for the night. They hung their jackets and outergarments near the fire to dry, Rey remaining in her chemise and petticoat and Kylo in his short drawers. An awkward silence fell over them.

Kylo cleared his throat. His eyes raked over her form which was visible under her thin chemise, her nipples straining against the transparent fabric. "I will take to the floor to sleep, if you'd prefer."

Rey shook her head, forcing herself to look away. His arms were huge, his chest broad, and his stomach muscles defined. He was bluff and well-formed, looking more like someone who toiled in the fields rather than one of the gentry cove.

"I don't mind sharing the bed, My Lord. I am used to cramped and crowded conditions and the need to share a space. I have often slept four or five deep, for bodily warmth or just to have a place to slumber."

Kylo looked grateful as he climbed in next to her. The mattress, stuffed with wool flocking and feathers, sank down under his weight, straining the latticework of rope on which it sat. The shifting pallet forced his body against hers, her warmth and softness making his cock stir in response.

He bit back a groan as she turned and bid him good night, her breathing soon settling into a slow rhythm. He watched her sleeping form, tentatively raising his hand as if to place it over the swell of her hips before pulling back. He contented himself with looking at her face instead, her mouth parted like an invitation, and appeased his need for intimacy by gently brushing the strands of hair which fell over her face, tucking them behind her ear. He drew in his breath sharply as she sighed and smiled, leaning into his touch. He bent his head forward, listening closely to her soft inhalations, his mouth ghosting over her lips, fighting the temptation to taste their sweetness against his own.

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

The couple fell into the room, their voices muffled against the drunken laughter of the patrons outside as well as the rustling of their clothing and the busyness of their mouths. She ran her hands greedily up his chest, moaning at the taste of spirits on his tongue as well as the hardness in his crotch. She whispered in his ear, and he laughed wickedly as she pressed her hips against his before lowering herself slowly, kneeling in supplication at his feet. She fumbled with the opening of his pants, pulling down at his waistband, her lust growing upon seeing his size and length as she freed his swollen cock.

She ran her tongue gently along the tip as he groaned, taking a deep breath before bringing him fully into her mouth, reveling in his gasp of pleasure. She was skilled, nearly able to take all of him in, sheathing him in her warmth and wetness and he tilted his head back, eyes rolling upwards as he gave in to the filthy, sucking noises of her throat and the ministrations of her dextrous tongue.

He hadn't been able to sleep, the discomfort of lying on the small and well-worn bed worsened by the temptation of the body which lay beside him. Kylo had gone downstairs and proceeded to get bloody lushey on bragget and punch with some of the other male lodgers. James' wife had brought him his cups, making her intentions known with a brush of her hand or gentle bump of her hips. She had leaned over, proferring him a full view of her ample bosom before she whispered in his ear, begging him to help her forget where she was and who she was married to even if it was for just one night.

Rey stirred as she heard the muted sounds of giggling and pleasured sighs, squinting as she let her eyes adjust to the dark. She made out the silhouette of a man, the waves of his hair falling in front of his face, his hands gripping long, curly tresses which bobbed back and forth in a slow and sensual flow at his waist. The sounds and musky scent of the couple's sex filled the air, and Rey felt a heat unfurl in her groin and a flush suffuse her body as she experienced a stab of jealousy and desire at the pleasure unfolding in front of her.

She needed to assuage the ache between her legs. Rey brought down her hand tentatively in response as she continued to watch from the shadows, her fingers becoming slick with wetness as the man gritted out his next words.

" _Bloody hell_. You are a fine miss, aren't you? A dirty woman of pleasure, ready for anyone to dock?"

Rey recognized the dangerous timbre in Kylo's voice, the realization causing Rey to increase the pressure of her fingers against her mons, trying to rub at the ache which nearly caused her to gasp out loud. His words also had an effect on the other woman, as she removed her head from his leaking cock, her mouth swollen and reddened and wet as she moaned.

 _"Only for you, My Lord_."

He growled, pulling her up to him roughly as she wound her arms around his neck. He tilted her head, his hand on her jaw, forcing it open to take his tongue, ravishing her with his need. He pulled down the front of her dress, the rough cotton fabric pooling around her waist as he lowered his head, kneading and suckling on her breasts. He took in those fleshy mounds, making obscene, slurping noises with his gorgeous mouth before grasping her nipple between his teeth, causing it to peak in a mixture of pleasure and pain.

Her eyes darkened as she watched his movements, and she panted as she rolled her hips, grinding up against him. His cock was aching, reacting to her movements and the whining noises which escaped her throat. He stood to his full height, hiking up her skirt and positioning her left leg around his waist. She was utterly debauched, dripping with her wantonness and need as she brought her hand down to him, pumping his shaft and guiding him to her entrance as she begged him to take her.

He grabbed her, supporting her against the wall as he gripped her hips, his large hands squeezing the cheeks of her ass. He positioned himself and she let out a mewling sound as he entered her with a grunt, sinking his entire length to the hilt. The sounds of their gyrating bodies filled the air, the slap of skin on skin and her moans causing him to lower his mouth over hers in an attempt to stifle her growing cries.

Rey's hand was moving faster and faster as the intensity of the pair's rutting increased. She circled her fingers downwards, feeling a clenching in her belly and a tightening in her legs as she pressed her back against the mattress in response to Kylo's increasingly frenzied movements. The couple was also edging towards their own release, the woman's pussy squeezing around Kylo's cock as he felt his balls pull up and tighten in response. He made a final push, letting out a strangled noise as he came. Her walls spasmed around him as he pumped into her, and she cried out and whimpered as she dropped her head against his shoulders, riding the waves of her own release. Rey's mouth fell open wordlessly as she gasped with her first orgasm, reveling in the flood of warmth as her muscles contracted and clenched, the pleasure and satisfaction rolling over her and leaving her dazed.

The three of them lay in the dark in the aftermath, their breathing slowly stilling and their bodies sweaty and satiated, but each with a lingering loneliness in their hearts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am grateful as always for all of your comments and passionate feedback. This chapter has triggered a lot of mixed feelings for some readers, particularly with regards to Kylo's activities, which take place in the same room as Rey. I wanted to write my thoughts on this subject, as it is important for Kylo to remain a flawed yet somewhat sympathetic character, who is ultimately redeemable at the end  
>   
> 1) Kylo's current attitude towards, and the way he relates to women, is the result of a past traumatic event which will eventually come to light. Although he begins to show some feelings towards Rey, he is nowhere near ready to tear down the emotional walls which he has erected for the past 10 years. His self-indulgent and liscentious behavior is also not altogether uncommon among the male aristocracy during this time period.  
> 2) Having lived in the streets for the past 8 years, Rey's living conditions were very different from Kylo's. Children/families in similar situations often lived in hovels or even within a single room, where all types of activities could take place in front of the other occupants. In addition, she had been exposed to the world of prostitution through Plutt's workers. So even though she is sexually inexperienced herself, the world of sex is not necessarily a novelty to her  
> 3) These comments are not to excuse Kylo's actions. He is flawed, damaged and self-absorbed. His behavior was not intended to disrespect Rey; rather I was trying to show the beginnings of a conflict within him, between his feelings of tenderness towards Rey and the way he has learned to view women. In the end of the chapter, the sexual act has left him emotionally empty, despite fulfilling a physical need. This was not the case in the first chapter, and is meant to signal the beginning of a change within him.


	5. The Duchess Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A blast from Ren's past portends trouble....lots and lots of trouble  
>   
> [excerpt]:  
> His eyes appeared lighter in the sun, their amber color holding a mischievous glint.
> 
> "I promised you something your first night at Caserta. I think it's time I fulfilled it."

* * *

  ** _You must look into people, as well as at them_ **

                                                                        -Philip Stanhope, 4th Earl of Chesterfield

 

_"The suffering may be moral or physical; and in my opinion it is just as absurd to call a man a coward who destroys himself, as to call a man a coward who dies of malignant fever."_

Kylo slowed his steps as he heard Rey's voice, hesitant in her skepticism. He leaned against the door of the library as he observed her lesson, the relaxed angle of his hips and the fold of his arms creating the dissemblance of a careless curiosity.

Their relationship had been more subdued and restrained following their return from town. Rey had thrown herself voraciously into her studies, while he had devoted himself to his duties at Caserta. Their association felt safe, superficially pleasant, and entirely unsatisfying. There was a return of that emptiness, although at times he felt himself being swayed and entranced by her, as if she could help fill it. He now watched as the sun streamed in from the windows, warming the rows of brown and black tomes sitting on the shelves with their patterned and gilded designs, before settling on her face. Her hair shone, golden highlights stranded on bronzed chocolate, and her pert nose and delicate features scrunched up in consternation as she seemed at war with the sentiment printed in front of her.

She closed the book, its well-worn leather cover making a satisfying thump as she shook her head.

"Master Luke. Although I understand that extreme passion can drive someone to consider absolute self annihilation, it is difficult for me to sympathize with a character such as Werther, as he ultimately commits the most selfish of acts. He is _indeed_ a coward."

The older gentleman looked down at Rey kindly. He enjoyed teaching his new student. Her frankness and perspicacity was a refreshing change from the jaded attitudes of many of the children of the first circle. She was even more impressive, some could say, given her sex and the circumstances of her upbringing.

"Heartbreak and isolation are universal concepts, Miss Kenobi. It is, at the very least, a story of tragic and unrequited love."

Rey frowned. "But Werther is not the ideal of the sensitive and passionate lover. He demonstrates in many instances evidence of his emotional immaturity and the lack of self-discipline."

Kylo strode into the room, nodding his greeting to Master Luke. His tall figure and barely restrained energy filled up the space as he stood in front of Rey's seated form.  He rested his body against the desk, his long legs stretched out in front of him as he addressed her.

"Perhaps you are being too harsh on our hero, Rey.  His condition speaks to the feelings of an entire generation. Napoleon himself considers the book one of the greatest works of European literature. Others have identified with Werther to such an extent as to carry out his tragic ending in the depths of their despair. "

Rey scoffed. "Self-obsession is not the quality of a hero.  Nor is it one we should choose to emulate."

Kylo's eyes bore into hers. "But what about the Sturm and Drang? Werther's passion? His humanity? Are these not the things that give us our individual sensibilities, that give our lives meaning?"

He paused.  "That make life worth living?"

He allowed himself to lean in, his voice remaining low but laced with an undercurrent of fervor, his gaze never leaving her face.

_"How often do I lull my seething blood to rest, for you have never seen anything so unsteady, so uncertain, as this heart?"_

Rey felt her own traitorous heart quicken upon hearing his words. She wanted to think that it was a physiologic reaction to the heat of their intellectual disagreement, but a deeper part of her knew that it was Kylo's proximity, his raw power which was making everything catch in her throat.  She answered with a false bravado as she took in a deep breath, unable to look away from his stare.

_" I am alone the cause of my own woe, am I not?"_

The air lay thick and heavy, the fine thread of tension and dissent wavering and tightening between them.  He drew his body closer, his face hovering slightly above her own.

_"I have been more than once intoxicated; my passions have always bordered on extravagance. I am not ashamed to confess it; for I have learned, by my own experience, that all extraordinary men, who have accomplished great and astonishing actions, have ever been decried by the world as drunken and insane."_

Rey was suddenly reminded of what his passion had looked like, under quite different circumstances.  She gazed upon the intensity of his eyes, the strength of his nose, the fullness of his lips.  Images of those lips pressing against a willing body flooded her. She inhaled the scent of his soap and skin as he held her entranced, a cat to her mouse.  She fought against her hypnotic state, desperately reaching through the haze of her emotions and her confounded mind to come up with a response, however weak.

_"You exaggerate everything and are certainly wrong at least."_

He was so close, his fingers resting on the armrest of her chair, almost grazing the sleeve of her dress. The slightest change in her position would have allowed her to give in to his touch.

He closed in verbally, a riposte to her inadequate parry, which was softened by the surprisingly gentle tone of his words.

" _Is this the destiny of man? Is he only happy before he has acquired his reason, or after he has lost it?"_

Rey felt her breath stop. Her voice was barely a whisper.

_"Once we are lost unto ourselves, everything else is lost to us."_

She nearly closed her eyes in that moment, her chin tilted up towards him, the line of her neck exposing her bounding pulse which quickened against the proximity of his mouth and the heat of his words.   She knew her breath was coming fast and heavy, until she saw the faintest of smirks dance across his face.

Her temper flared. He was _enjoying_ this, reducing her to a quivering, besotted schoolgirl to prove his point!

He quirked his eyebrow as he heard her mutter something that sounded suspiciously like _"insufferable arse."_  The spell between them was broken as a throat cleared nervously in the background.

The tutor's ears looked decidedly red, as he awkwardly interrupted. "Yes, well, epistolary fiction such as this certainly enhances one's ability to have an, uhmm, intimate and psychological relationship with the subject matter, does it not?" He looked relieved as the younger man turned to face him.

Kylo stood.  "How are Rey's studies progressing, Master Luke?"

The tutor broke out into a genuine smile, his blue eyes twinkling. "Very well, Lord Ren. She has a true love of learning, devouring everything I have put forth. It is a great pleasure to work with someone of her inquisitiveness and intellect."

He hesitated. "I understand that you wish to introduce Rey to London society during the upcoming season. Although I feel that her qualities in the academic arena are unparalleled, I would be doing both you and her a great disservice without reminding you that to be successful in that regard, she would also need to learn those skills which would be important for her to fulfill her role as a lady of the ton. To--well, increase her chances of finding an appropriate suitor."

Kylo's look darkened slightly at his words.

Master Luke persisted. "Sewing, embroidery, dance and music? She doesn't seem to have as natural an affinity for these areas. Perhaps more of a female influence, and the services of a dance master, could help you accomplish these goals."

Kylo suppressed his laughter as he watched Rey attempt to hide a frown of distaste, at which she failed miserably. He knew she was thinking that any appropriate suitor would not require her to do such conventional tasks. He didn't disagree. In his mind, she made a much more appealing image with her head bent over a book instead of a needlepoint.

Kylo nodded. " I appreciate your candor, Master Luke. I will have Mrs. Kanata look into those very things."

The man bowed. "It is my pleasure. Good afternoon, Lord Ren. Miss Kenobi."

After he left, Kylo turned to Rey, teasing her. "Insufferable arse, hmm? Have you always been this outspoken and headstrong?"

She failed to bite back her retort. "Only in the face of arrogance and insufferable conceit." She then had the decency to look abashed, coloring slightly. "I apologize for my temper, My Lord. I'm afraid you have your hands full with me. I can't say that I've been one for the niceties and proprieties of polite society."

"Well, that makes two of us. Although if you apply yourself with half the efforts you devote to your other studies, I have no doubt that you'll have them eating out of the palm of your hand in London." He admonished her gently. "Do try, Rey. Circumstances here at Caserta are very different from those in the city. There are many, both male and female, who would love nothing better than to expose your shortcomings, take advantage of your artlessness, and tear you apart."

He looked at her, his gaze taking in her form and her clothes. She was wearing a sensible dress, made of a light yellow muslin, with a deep skirt and attached bodice. She hesitated, uncertain as to why he was assessing her in such a manner, and self-consciously raised her hand to her face as if to erase a non-existent smudge of dirt from her flushed cheeks. She felt relieved as he nodded his approval and requested that she accompany him outdoors.

His eyes appeared lighter in the sun, their amber color holding a mischievous glint.

"I promised you something your first night at Caserta. I think it's time I fulfilled it."

 

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

 

Rey stared in awe at the magnificent thoroughbred.  His coat was the color of midnight, his eyes intelligent and spirited. Kylo stroked the length of the hot blood’s graceful neck lovingly, his human form mirroring the horse’s planed face, angular shoulders and impatient nature.

“He’s beautiful, My Lord.” Rey reached out tentatively, stroking its powerful haunches. “Hux mentioned that you are a horseman. Do you raise horses for trade or for sport?”

“Primarily sport. I must admit, I’ve participated in my fair share of races.” His voice was tinged with pride. “Vader is descended from the Godolphin line of Arabians, the great-great grandson of Matchem. He placed second in Newmarket, and won the 2000 Guineas Stakes last year.” The horse appeared eager and lively, champing at the bit for his owner to ride him. Rey had no doubt that, with Vader's lean body and long flat muscles, he was built for great agility and speed.

Kylo murmured, calming the horse as he signaled for the stable master to bring out another. This one was also beautiful, delicate with a skewbald coat of chestnut and white and a gentle disposition. A broad and padded saddle was mounted on top, capped by a curved, leather pommel and a second horn. Rey eyed it suspiciously, and noted that there was only a single, velvet-covered slipper stirrup hanging at the mare's side.

She looked at Kylo questioningly.

“I thought you mentioned that you had ridden on the back of a horse?” he asked, bemused.

“I have. This—this is a different type of saddle from that which I am used to.”

“This is a side saddle. He frowned. “Have you not ridden aside?”

“No, My Lord. Only astride.”  Rey’s face had taken on that scrunched up look again. She wanted to more than anything to ride that afternoon, but the contraption looked altogether silly.

She looked up at him hopefully.  “Perhaps if there are a pair of breeches that I may borrow, I can ride on a saddle such as yours?”

“Absolutely not.” Kylo looked momentarily appalled, although as he thought about it, he supposed it was not too far of a stretch for her to suggest such a thing. He was introduced to her wearing a boy’s jacket and pants, after all. As he thought about it _still_ further, he pictured her slim legs encased in breeches— _his_ breeches, her thighs tightening as she leaned over her steed, urging it forward, and he felt himself stir between his legs.

“Rey. If you are to ride in the presence of others, outside of these walls, you will need to learn how to do so properly.”

Kylo waved off the groom, choosing to check the saddle, the stirrup and the firmness of the girths himself. He next looked at the placement and condition of the headstall, bridle and reins, coming to stand by the left side of the mare’s shoulder when he found they met his satisfaction.

He motioned for Rey to turn and face him.

“I’m going to help you mount Padmé. When you are seated, I want you to position your right leg between the two horns.” He brought his gloved hand close to her thigh, indicating where it should be placed.

Rey gathered the folds of her skirt in her left hand as her right hand grabbed the pommel. Kylo leaned over, stooping so she could place her foot in his hands. He barely seemed to exert any energy as he lifted her, positioning her so her derriere was firmly on the seat. He set her left foot in the single stirrup and situated her right knee so it rested against her left leg. He finished by gently smoothing out the folds of her skirt. The constant and changing pressure of his hands against her body seemed to sear through the cotton fabric, making her prickled skin burn and her heart race.

Kylo walked slowly, guiding Padmé until Rey became more accustomed to being in the side saddle. It took a while to adjust to the novelty, forcing her to sit up with a straight back and her hips and shoulders even. Occasionally, the pressure from her left leg in the stirrup would cause her to slip downwards, which she learned to counter by increasing the weight on her right hip. She eventually grew more comfortable, although the deep leather skirt of the saddle prevented her from directly cueing the mare, preventing her from feeling fully in control.

When Kylo was satisfied, he handed Rey the reins. He mounted Vader, his tall and powerful body alighting in one graceful leap as he took his place to Rey’s right.

The heavy fragrance of centofolia from the gardens changed to the smell of the grass in the meadows they rode near the gravel paths of the estate. The circuitous route and winding lanes showed Caserta’s grounds to their best advantage, with its exquisite view of the countryside. The horses neared an area of controlled wilderness, filled with irregular plantings and a beautiful lake.

Kylo slowed the horses down. He dismounted and she attempted to follow suit, before he shouted for her to wait and was immediately by her side.

“Your dress,” he warned, freeing her knee from the pommel and disengaging the fabric which had become caught between her legs and the horn. He assisted her in dismounting, his hands resting lightly but firmly on her waist and then sliding down the sides of her trunk as she lowered herself to the ground.

She felt warm, from the heat of the afternoon sun, the exhiliration of the ride, and mostly from the touch of his hands. He led her to the edge of a small lake, the water reflecting the scenery like a thousand mirrors in the sun, blinding her with its beauty. The woodlands and gamelands were visible in the far distance. The melodies of the songbirds filled the air as they took shade under the oak, a pair of osprey taking off in flight.

Rey watched Kylo relax, the unconscious, occasional clenching of his hands stilling, the tension in his shoulders settling, the rate of his breathing slowing. He looked younger than his twenty eight years, unencumbered by trappings of his titular responsibilities and emotional unrest which often dominated his thoughts and movements.

She allowed herself to close her eyes, giving into the feel of the summer air and the sounds which surrounded her. She realized that such peace and tranquility were foreign to her as well. Her days had so often been filled with hunger or fear, or pain or emptiness, leaving no room for self-reflection. Life had been just a constant movement forward to survive.

She opened her eyes and saw Kylo watching her, his lips curled in a gentle smile. Everything about him seemed to soften as he looked out across the lake’s waters.

"I haven't been back here in a long time. It used to be one of my favorite places. It's nice to…” He hesitated, his next words cryptic. “To be able to enjoy it again, as I had once remembered it, long ago."

Rey smiled back. "I can see why this place would mean so much to you."  She dropped her head and peeked up at him through her lashes, suddenly shy.  "Thank you, My Lord.  I had a wonderful time this afternoon."

She felt it again. The thread of want which flickered and pulsed between them.

He leaned in, his hand on hers, glove on glove, hovering just on the edge of impropriety.

He suddenly withdrew his touch and looked away, his voice lowering as he fought against her pull.

"You're welcome, Rey."

She knew it the second it happened. A maelstrom of confusion, of desire, and passion. The yearning which he had spoken to earlier, the emotions which she had scoffed at. She now understood.

She wanted it all.

Her heart ached as she realized that she wanted it with him.

 

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

 

Kylo frowned as Caserta Hall pulled into sight. A massive, imposing town coach awaited under the portico of the drive, a golden armorial bearing on its black doors and a coachman and postilion at its side.

This was not Han and Leia’s carriage. They weren’t even due for another week.

He racked his brain to see if he had forgotten a scheduled visit. It was not time for the hunting season yet, and as his parents and the rest of the staff had not yet arrived from London, there was nothing planned on Caserta’s social calendar for the next several days. He helped Rey dismount as he hurried towards the entrance.

Dopheld was at the door to greet them, taking their hat and gloves. He had a slightly anxious look on his face as he led them past the great hall and towards the library, bowing at its entrance.

“Mister Kylo. The Duchess of Silesia is here to see you.”

A figure stood with her back to the door. She was petite, and dressed in a white satin gown embroidered in silver thread. A petticoat of primrose-colored crape trimmed with silver lace and festooned with roses hung delicately from her shoulders. The draping and folds of her gown did little to hide the curves of her waist and hip, nor the swell of her bosom. Rey gasped as the visitor turned towards them.

She was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen.

Her skin was a smooth and unblemished porcelain white, contrasting with the ebony of her hair. Her shiny locks were pulled back, falling in artfully arranged ringlets and blended with flowers. Her lips were perfectly formed, shaped almost in a constant pucker and cherry red. She appeared polished, yet seductive and mysterious. Her eyes flitted from Kylo to Rey, and Rey felt a sudden chill settle over her.

The woman’s eyes were cold and calculating. Cruel. One of the things Rey knew from her life on the streets was her ability to read people. She caught the woman’s simultaneous assessment and condemnation, in the quick purse of her lips and the flare of her nostrils and the slightest narrowing of her eyes.

Ren staggered backwards. Memories of the last twenty years came flooding back, an emotional tidal wave of love and lust, hope and joy, anger and hatred, and overwhelming pain and cruelty.

“Kylo.” His name left her lips, as her voice curled around those four letters, holding within them a possessive familiarity and intimacy. A display and assertion of ownership, as she triumphantly looked past Kylo and directly at Rey.

_"Bazine."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rey and Kylo are trading quotes from Johann Wolfgang von Goethe's "The Sorrows of Young Werther" at the beginning of the scene


	6. Bazine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The connection between Ren and Bazine explained.
> 
> [excerpt]:  
> Kylo took in a deep breath as he watched the pleasure on her face erase her uncertainty and yearning. A funny warmth spread slowly through his chest with the knowledge that it was in reaction to him.

* * *

 

_**Choose your pleasures for yourself, and do not let them be imposed upon you. Follow nature and not fashion: weigh the present enjoyment of your pleasures against the necessary consequences of them, and then let your own common sense determine your choice** _

-Philip Stanhope, 4th Earl of Chesterfield, Letters to His Son on the Art of Becoming a Man in the World and a Gentleman

 

"97, 98, 99....100."`

The fine bristles of the brush worked their way through the last sections of her hair, her soft locks shiny and the color of a starless night. It was an elaborate nightly ritual, occasionally enhanced with the oils of costus and myrtle or the addition of walnut leaves and liquid pitch to amplify its sheen and color. Her tresses hung down, long and luxurious and straight, framing a heart-shaped face with expressive eyes and plush lips.

The girl's mother smiled, pleased with the results as she turned the little girl around, revealing her reflection in the mirror.

The woman leaned over to press a kiss on the girl's forehead. A beauty herself, she knew that her daughter had the potential to surpass her. At only seven years of age, she had already captured the attentions of those around her. It was not just the other children, who were taken by her intelligence and her self-assuredness, seeking her affection and good graces. It was also the case with women, who cooed over her precociousness and exoticness, those very qualities which would eventually cause them to turn against her in fits of jealousy. It was particularly true of men, whose open stares at the girl's striking coloring and delicate features would turn into lecherous looks and a thousand indecent thoughts as she grew older.

Her mother spoke to her, as she did every night.

"Your beauty is your bounty, Bazine. Take care of it; cultivate it. Men are weak, always thinking with the lust in their hearts and the heat in their loins. With your gifts, you can have any man of your choosing. With your charms, you will be able to have the life that you wish.”

She embraced her as she whispered into her ear.

“My darling girl. Money and love and power. All that you desire, is within your grasp."

  

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

 

Anoat sat at the northernmost border of Northern Maridunshire, near the edge of the Organa-Solo country seat and close to the North Sea. It was the home of Sir Andrew Snoke, a baronet. His was a courtesy title only, without the benefits and privileges of the peerage, bestowed upon his family since the 1600s when they had made their money and connections through intermarriage and the sale of coal.

The geography of the upper region meant a closer proximity to the moorlands and mountains which, although beautiful, were not conducive to agricultural growth. Instead, the rocky soil was filled with clay and coal, to be mined by brick-lined shafts plummeting as deep as 150 feet into the ground. Over the centuries, the high moorlands of Anoat were also overgrazed, and what remained were the scrub and unpalatable grasses and with it, the subsequent loss of its wildlife and its tenants.

The Snokes lived in Ambria House, its Gothic arches and tracery windows decorating its ornate limestone facades, with pinnacles which reached up to the skies. When the current Lady Snoke desired a more magnificent residence, sprawling Tudor-Gothic wings were added which tripled both the size of their home as well as their debt. Dependent on coal production for income and without much contribution from the tenancy, Ambria House slowly fell into disrepair.

Not having the wildlife, geography or resources for a hunt, the Snokes had limited opportunities for hosting events in the off-season. It was with great excitement and pleasure when they finally received an invitation to a hunting party at Caserta Hall.

 

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

  
"Honestly, Phasma," Kylo grunted, pressing forward. She danced away teasingly, a picture of poise and grace. He move forward, constant in his motion and aggressive in his stance as she effectively blocked blow after blow of his wooden smallsword, binding his weapon with her own as she used her body for leverage. Even though she was only seven to his eight years, she was tall, nearly equaling Kylo in height. He swung wildly in frustration, thrusting ahead and trying to grapple the hilt of her weapon as they continued to spar. His hair hung in wavy and unruly locks as he felt himself beginning to sweat with exertion, the adrenaline speeding through his heart and lungs, making him faster and a tad more focused in that moment.

"Mister Kylo and Miss Organa-Solo." Daniels' voice ran out, slowing the sibling's activities down, but without completely stopping it. "You have visitors."

Kylo groaned inwardly. He and Phasma were too young to participate in the hunt itself, so much of their time was spent with the women in the house, preparing for the picnic. He would much rather be outside, practicing with Phasma. As he turned around, he saw a young girl standing at the edge of the lawn, shyly looking at the proceedings. She was pretty--probably the prettiest girl he had ever seen.  She stood there in her blue dress, a hint of fading and a lack of brightness in its color but with lots of ruffles that looked like they would poof out all around her when she sat. He saw that she looked uncertain and he smiled at her, his face breaking into a huge grin.

Phasma's blue eyes lit up at his momentary distraction, becoming a blond blur as she counterthrust, scoring the first touch.

"Hey, that's cheating!" But he really didn't seem to mind very much, especially as the little girl let out a laugh and smiled back.

 _Ba-zine._ Kylo let her name roll slowly off his tongue, savoring the sound of it for the first time as she was introduced to the Organa-Solo children. Phasma had given her a quick and polite greeting in return, but was distracted by the activity elsewhere and rushed off eagerly, looking to tell someone about how she had just bested her older brother. Kylo was left standing with Bazine and her mother.

The older woman smiled, her lips pressed perhaps just a bit too tightly as she watched Phasma's retreating figure. "My, what a lovely young lady."

She continued to smile, with the smallest amount of censure in her tone. "So energetic, and with such... _interesting_ pursuits."

Kylo fidgeted uncomfortably. He didn't take kindly to anyone speaking ill of his family, but this woman was an adult and their guest so he held his tongue.

Bazine looked mortified, a slight blush creeping into her cheeks at her mother's boldness.

Lady Snoke allowed her features to relax as she watched Kylo standing there attentively. Her gray eyes brightened as she encouraged him.

"Lord Ren," she said. "It is a beautiful morning. Perhaps you would like to show Miss Bazine the gardens?"

Kylo nodded, relieved. Lady Snoke looked very much like her daughter, only with a thinner face and dark brown instead of ebony hair, but there was something about her which made him feel like she was constantly assessing him.

He dipped down into the slightest of bows. "It would be my pleasure, My Lady."

Bazine walked by Kylo's side.  She marveled at the topiaries, their magnificent forms towering above the two children, beasts clawing at the air and prancing at the sky. Kylo led her to the lily-filled ponds, where he showed her how to create the most perfect ripple, throwing a pebble into the stilled waters, the enlarging rings gently pushing out the leafy blooms in mild protest before they settled back into position.

Bazine looked wistful, overwhelmed by the grandeur of the surroundings, as well as the confident and carefree nature of the young boy. She allowed Kylo to place a smooth, thin and flat stone between her forefingers, drawing her arm back as he placed his hand over hers.  He applied the slightest bit of pressure, flicking their wrists as the stone was released. It skipped three times over the smooth surface of the pond, bouncing over the large, purple blooms before falling down with a satisfying _plop_. She laughed, delighted at the sound and their success, her joy radiating outwards and enhancing her beauty tenfold.

Kylo took in a deep breath as he watched the pleasure on her face erase her uncertainty and yearning. A funny warmth spread slowly through his chest with the knowledge that it was in reaction to him.

 

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

 

The Snokes were a frequent fixture at Caserta Hall in the next several years. Lady Snoke encouraged Bazine's friendship with Kylo and Phasma, although Phasma at times seemed impatient with Bazine's decorum and delicate femininity.

"I don't think Phasma likes me very much," Bazine had mentioned one day, biting her lower lip in such a way that made it difficult for Kylo to look away as a small bloom of redness began to appear.

He had shrugged, finally looking away from her mouth and out towards the waters of the lake. It was one of their favorite places to escape to and talk, with the faint outline of the mountains in the distance and Anoat just beyond its view.

"Don't be silly, Bazine. Phasma likes you just as much as I do." _Although_ , _perhaps, not exactly in the same way_ , he added mentally, blushing as he recalled some of the not very platonic thoughts which had begun to creep into his daydreams.

Bazine had looked down, her hands slightly tremulous. She spoke softy, looking up at him, doe-eyed pools of brown framed beneath long, fringed lashes. "I sometimes feel ashamed, Kylo. I --I don't have the beautiful gowns that Phasma and her friends have. I spend my time in school with tradesmen's daughters, not at home with a private tutor."

She looked away. "I sometimes wonder why you even like me. I don't fit into your world. Are you ever ashamed of me?"

Kylo gazed at Bazine, a fierce protectiveness welling up inside of him.

"I know my sister," he told her reassuringly. "She is a good person.  She would never judge someone based on what they do or do not have."

He held her hand that day, so small and dainty in his as he comforted her.

"I am hardly ashamed, Bazine. You are my friend.  You are amazing.  Nothing will ever change the way I feel about you."

He meant every word of it as he gave her a quick hug, but it wasn't quick enough to catch the smile which slowly crept onto her face upon hearing his words.

 

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

 

_"Kylo."_

She whispered his name loudly, her tone colored by the shock and nervousness of someone who was caught doing something very wrong.

Bazine's mouth was open in surprise.  Kylo came over quickly, looking at the book which lay open in her fingers. He inspected the cover. It appeared entirely innocuous, a bland, beige background decorated with a muted orange border, until he read the black print.

**_"Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure."_ **

He reddened slightly, embarassed that his parents would be in possession of such a book, let alone have it in their library for anyone to find. Bazine nudged him, opening the book again and turning the page.

**_"Look."_ **

He did, and what he saw caused him to redden further.  He felt the blood pool to his face and his groin as he read the text next to the mezzo-tinted illustrations.

_"Its prodigious size made me shrink again; yet I could not, without pleasure, behold, and even ventur’d to feel, such a length, such a breadth of animated ivory! perfectly well turn’d and fashion’d, the proud stiffness of which distended its skin, whose smooth polish and velvet softness might vie with that of the most delicate of our sex."_

Kylo grabbed the book from Bazine's hands, shaking with the flood of emotions which tore through him.

"You shouldn't be reading this sort of thing, Bazine."

She looked at him questioningly.

"And you can? I'm almost thirteen, just like you."

She was breathless, the illicitness of the book and the danger of being caught propelling her forward as she clutched at it, begging him.

"Let me read it with you."

He stilled, taken aback by her forwardness as well as the desire which welled up inside of him upon hearing her words. Bazine had once asked him if he was ashamed of her, but these days, he often asked the very same question of himself. Kylo had shot up in height, towering over all others his age. His face was a mix of residual childlike features such as the fullness of his lips and the size of his ears, which contrasted with the changing lines and angulations of his nose and his jaw.  His hands were huge and his limbs long and gangly, and he constantly felt the need to shrink down into himself in order to not stick out. Bazine, however, had amazingly bypassed such physical contradictions and insecurities. Even at an age where most children were dealing with their awkwardness, she was still beautiful: a perfect face, red lips, and the beginnings of a softness and roundness to her body, more magnificent than anything Kylo had ever seen.

They spent that afternoon huddled over the book, hiding it under the desk if someone should check in on them, before returning to its salacious pages. Kylo was hard the entire time: harder than those times when he woke up in the morning, or when he tried to fall asleep at night, always thinking of her. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the pictures: of women with men, men with men, of things done with their hands and mouths and the use of a crop. The giggles which he and Bazine first shared at their initial embarrassment and titillation grew quieter, giving way to a quickening of their breaths and their hearts. Bazine's eyes darkened and she wet her lips, her dewy mouth parted as she continued to read.

Kylo tore himself away from the passages describing the orgies and aphrodisiacs and masturbation and masochism and sexuality as he watched Bazine.  A pulsing roar filled his head and his chest. His skin was on fire, his heart in his throat, and everything else was concentrated in his crotch, twitching, wanting, needy, craving his release. He watched as Bazine tentatively pressed her fingers against her lips before reaching down under the desk. She turned to face him as she cupped him through the fabric of his breeches.  Her fingers glided across the rough material and along the length of his cock which jutted out from underneath, and she curled them in slightly as he tilted his head back and pressed his hips forward. He gave in to the sensations of her hand, barely conscious of the flutter of her lips against his as she leaned in, giving him his first kiss.

"B-Bazine," he cried out, as he came from her touch.

 

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

 

"I'm going to marry her, Hux. As soon as she turns eighteen, I will ask Sir Andrew and Lady Snoke for their blessing."

Hux turned to Kylo. He was slightly taken aback by the suddenness of his proclamation, but not at the sentiment itself.

"Of course you are, Ren. I must say, that everyone is expecting it eventually. But why the rush? Why not wait until after you have finished your studies at Oxford?"

"Well, it would be an engagement until I finish. But I want to make my intentions known. I can't bear the thought being without her."

Hux turned back to his book, knowing he wouldn't sway Ren with an argument. His friend seemed to be ruled by his passion these days.

Bazine and Kylo made a striking couple. As Kylo matured, he grew into his size and his looks, his dark coloring complementing the sharp planes of his face and the thick shock of hair, while softened by the warm gold of his eyes and the sensual turn of his lips. He was strong and muscular, and his initial lankiness eventually evolved into a loping, feral grace of movement. Even when his changing looks began to attract the flattering attentions of many women, he only had eyes for Bazine.

Bazine herself not only surpassed the childhood promises of her extraordinary beauty, but she learned how to wield it like the greatest weapon--sharp, cutting and deadly, binding Kylo more closely to her and destroying any female competition for his affections. Their older ages now meant that they could no longer speak in private or even see each other without the presence of a chaperone. There were no further walks together to the lake, or the holding of hands in a childlike innocence, although Kylo would occasionally ride out to the wild moorlands to steal a moment through secretly arranged meetings or to just revel in her proximity. He knew that both of her parents had long encouraged the match, and had little worry that he would not receive their blessings and consent when he proposed.

Which was why it was such a shock when he _didn't._

The day would forever be branded in his mind. He had entered Ambria House, surprised at the new additions and plantings which now enlivened the once gloomy facade. Everything seemed more polished and more copious: more staff, more artwork, more furnishings, all having the effect of showing off the ostentatious trappings which often came with the sudden infusion of an excessive amount of money. He waited to pay his addresses as he stood in the hall, becoming slightly impatient and uneasy with the amount of time he was required to wait.

The butler approached him, bowing his head as he finally led the way.

"Sir Andrew Snoke and Lady Snoke will now see you, Lord Ren."

He saw it immediately in their demeanor. There was still a polite smile on their faces, which was to be expected when addressing someone of his social standing, but there was nothing warm behind the tension of those upturned lips. Sir Andrew appeared almost sympathetic--sorry, for Kylo. Lady Snoke, on the other hand, appeared irritated, those cool gray eyes surveying him just as they had ten years ago, when he was just a boy.

Sir Andrew stood, approaching Kylo to shake his hand. "Lord Ren. What a wonderful surprise. To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Kylo's heart was full, the words which he had planned to speak falling by the wayside as his emotions overtook him.

"Sir Andrew. I have had the pleasure of knowing you and your family for the past ten years. During that time, I have had the honor of spending much time with your daughter.  Miss Bazine was, and has remained, one of my closest friends. Over the years, my friendship for her has turned into something deeper. My respect for her has evolved into something more personal.

"Bazine completes me. I have fallen in love with her, and believe that she reciprocates my affections. I wish for nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with her, and to remind her every day just how much she means to me.

"I would be my greatest honor to be her husband, and I respectfully ask you for her hand in marriage."

There was no question of the look in Sir Andrew's eyes this time. They were filled with _pity_.

Lady Snoke went to her husband's side. "Lord Ren. Bazine has valued your friendship during the time that you have known her. However, a childhood infatuation is not the same thing as love. And friendship is not the only consideration for a successful marriage.

"A marriage must also provide security and stability, not only for Bazine, but for her family as well." She leaned forward. "The Duke of Silesia has become quite enamored with Bazine. He has already requested that she accompany him to the Prince Regent's Ball, and has made his intentions to make her his wife well known."

She watched Kylo closely, the confusion and hurt which showed in his face leaving her unaffected. In fact, she seemed to exact a small amount of pleasure in her next words.

"Sir Andrew and I have spoken regarding his Grace's feelings. After discussing it with Bazine, we have given him our blessings."

Kylo heard a gasp as he caught Bazine listening in at the doorway. His heart sank as he waited for a denial of Lady Snoke's statements, a denial which never came.

He flushed, trying to keep the humiliation from his face and the hurt from his voice as he bowed curtly.

"I apologize for my presumption. I bid you good-day."

They offered no words of comfort as he turned and stalked out, his back straight with his pride while his insides roiled with fury and loss. He gathered the reins of his mount when he heard her call.

 _"Lord Ren!"_ Bazine ran out to him, breathless.

He finally noticed her dress.  It was tailored perfectly, hugging the swell of her chest and flowing over the drape of her shoulders, edged in the finest French lace. It was of top quality silk, and accented with a large brooch at the waist glittering with rose cut diamonds and rubies.

It far surpassed anything that Phasma herself had ever worn.

He couldn't keep the bitterness out of his next words.

"What do you want, Bazine?"

In the end, she pleaded with him to give her a chance to explain and he relented, agreeing to meet with her in secret that next evening.

 

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

 

He stared at her, his anger warring with the ache in his heart as he realized that he still loved her.

"I'm here, Bazine. Against my better judgment."

It was a mixture of false hope and masochistic curiosity which brought Kylo back to Anoat.  They met where they always had when they had a secret rendezvous.  It was a small cottage on the estate, originally intended for use by a gameskeeper.  Given the poor terrain and lack of game, however, it never saw its purpose fulfilled, even with the recent change in the Snoke family finances.

Bazine took his hand in hers, her eyes beseeching, hating to see him hurt.

"I love you, Kylo. I always have."

He looked away. "Marrying someone else is a funny way of showing it, Bazine."

Her voice softened. "Kylo. My family has had a really difficult time with the finances of Anoat over the years. My marriage to the Duke would give my family security for the future. They need the money, and wish for me to have a title."

Kylo looked at her disbelievingly. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize that being married to the only son of a Marchess was not privilege enough for you."

He wanted to hurt her.

"I hope you have a fine life with the _Duke_ , Bazine." He let the word slip out poisonously, as he sneered. "I was thinking of calling on Lady Wildsmith. She is herself the daughter of a Marquess.  She has always shown a particular interest in me, and has no need for such superficialities as my title."  He continued, taking pleasure in seeing her flash of hurt at his words.

"Perhaps we shall see you and your future husband in London. I'll be sure to be on my best behavior if we do."

There wasn't much more to say, and he wanted to get away from Anoat, from any reminder of Bazine as quickly as possible. He stood up just as she placed her hand on his arm, restraining him.

Bazine felt a flare of jealousy at his words. She knew that he was baiting her, but the thought of another woman in Kylo's arms caused a rush of anger.  She wanted to possess him, to brand him so that he could never look at another woman without thinking of her. She would not be replaceable.  She would not play second to anyone in his heart.

She would have him, always and forever.

She ran her fingers down his arm, eventually taking hold of his trembling hands.

"We could elope, Kylo. We could go to Gretna Green, or you could purchase a license from the Archbishop of Canterbury. We could marry outside the church."

His voice shook. "You would do that for me?"

She brought her hand down further, tracing it along the length of his thigh, as he sat back down beside her.

"I would do anything for you," she murmured, as she parted her mouth and tasted his lips.

He moaned as he felt his body respond, pressing his tongue against hers, tasting her sweetness as she sighed against him. He took her face in his hands, feeling the soft, smooth skin against the pad of his thumb as he reluctantly broke their kiss, tracing the curve of her cheek.

"Bazine," his voice cracked. "I don't want to dishonor you."

Bazine looked at him, longing in her eyes. "I want this, Kylo. We will be married. This is my promise, my gift to you."

She whispered, seductive in her tone.

" _Make love to me, Kylo."_

Her words inflamed him, and he kissed her ravenously, nibbling along her jaw and down the line of her neck.  A moan escaped her throat in response to his mouth, its wet, pulsing heat threatening to consume her. He brought his lips back to hers as his fingers ran over the fabric of her dress, tracing the delicate lines of her ribs and the curve and swell of her breasts which lay beneath. She hissed as dipped his hand under, grazing her nipples, brushing his palm against the sensitive skin before he grasped one between his fingers and rubbed, causing her to arch wantonly into his hand.

She fumbled with the buttons of his coat and vest as they both worked to divest him of his clothes. She gazed in awe at his exposed torso: the lines of his shoulders, the strength of his arms, the cut of his chest and the firmness of his stomach. She splayed her hand against him, feeling his intake of breath as his chest drew in before slowly drawing out.  His skin was hot under her touch, his body moving uncontrollably towards her as she trailed her hand lower, lingering at the waistband of his breeches.

His cock was already hard, its length peeping out over the edge as she ran her fingers lightly over the exposed tip, feeling the soft and spongy tissue underneath. He grabbed her wrist, not wanting to come as he began to feel a loss of control. He pulled down her gown roughly, fully exposing her breasts, perfect and round and full. Her nipples were darkened, begging for his mouth and he acquiesced, feeling the puckered and hard nubs over the fleshiness of her bosom and against his tongue.

She grabbed his forearms, her fingers digging into his skin, leaving little crescent half-moons from the edges of her nails. His mind reached back, to the naughty whisperings and salacious gossip of schoolboys as well as the scandalous pictures of the book they had once shared, and he knew he wanted to taste her elsewhere, to bury his tongue inside of her and take her in that way too.

He placed his overcoat on the ground, providing a small cushion against the wooden floor as he lay her on top of the woolen fabric, sliding the voluminous layers of her gown down her shapely legs. He knelt at her feet, rubbing the arch of her foot and kissing the insides of her ankles, all the way up to the softness of her thighs. He licked in long stripes up to the soft curls which lay between her legs, the shine from his tongue blending with the wetness which seeped between them.

Bazine shivered under his touch, curling her fingers into his hair and urging his upwards.

 _"Please, Kylo,"_ she begged, flustered, rolling her hips towards his mouth.

He breathed her in, the texture of her curls tickling his nose as he tentatively stuck out his tongue and licked the folds which lay beneath. He was rewarded by her stifled cry, and he pressed harder, tasting the mix of the sweet and earthy scents of her juices, laving in circles, moaning into her wetness, fucking her with his tongue.

She panted, cheeks hot and flushed, head lolling back with the wickedness of his sinful kiss as she felt the heat in her groin bloom and the tightening of her thighs increase. She pulled him away, needing _him,_ needing them to come together for their first time.

 _You..now...please_ , she begged him silently through half-lidded eyes, undoing the buttons to his breeches. His cock fell out as he pulled off his pants, swollen and heavy. He let out a hiss as she wrapped her small hands around him.  She rubbed the drop of liquid which collected at the tip, massaging it into his slit, eliciting a deep throated growl. She marveled at his nakedness, so tall and beautiful and strong, and she quivered in anticipation of feeling that power inside of her.

He positioned himself over her writhing body, his hair falling in front of his face as he kissed her, his wide mouth slanting over hers, whispering her name again and again. She looked at him adoringly, even as she placed her hands on his buttocks, encouraging him to finally claim her as his own.

His cock quivered at her entrace as she canted her hips upwards, and he felt her velvety warmth sheath him as her eyes opened wide at the sensation of his penetration. Her small discomfort dissolved slowly, pain replaced by a pleasurable fullness, and she began to move.

Kylo bent down, nipping kisses along her throat and collarbone as he sank into her, first slowly and then with an increased urgency as he watched her lids flutter and her beautiful lips tremble beneath him. He was breathing hard, his heart pounding as he continued to thrust into her, hitting the area which made her whine and bare her throat to him as she called out his name. He felt the pressure building within him, a roar in his head and the hypersensitivity in his groin.  He lost control, rutting against her like an animal as his vision whitened.  Somewhere through his haze he heard her cry, and he stiffenedas he began to feel her walls clench and spasm along his cock. She raised her hips up for the final time, raking her nails against his sweat-soaked back as he came, spilling his seed over and over again into her warmth.

They lay together in the aftermath of their climax for several minutes, nestled in each other's arms, promises of  _"Mine"  "I'm yours, forever,"_ lingering between them.  By the time they were dressed, they had formulated a plan to meet each other at the end of the week, with Hux bringing a hired carriage to take them all the way to Gretna Green.

When Bazine returned to Ambria Hall, she was still dazed, her body languid and filled with a lover's bliss. She looked up at the starry night and saw the lit window from the corner of her eye. A cold fear washed over her as she saw her mother watching her from above, her face and body the picture of unrestrained fury.

　

 **~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O** ~

 

Kylo frowned. Something was not right.  He  _felt_ the movements and menacing whispers in the dark, and the hairs stood up in back of his neck.

He looked at his watchfob. The time was a quarter past eight. Bazine was supposed to meet him here, at the edge of her family's county seat. Hux would be by at any minute.

He patted the smallsword at his side, wishing he had chosen to take a pistol with him instead. He scanned the darkness, stilling as he heard the crunch of a brittle branch underneath a boot.

Kylo bent down, quickly removing his sword from its scabbard as a group of three men emerged from the trees.

"Well, look what we have here. A rank swell, all alone at night with nary a rattler or cuffin in sight. A bit hare-brained, wouldn't you think?"

His partners laughed, closing in.

Kylo backed away slightly and widened his stance as he drew his weapon, keeping his voice steady and loud. He couldn't let them find Bazine.

"I will give you all that I have if you leave immediately."

The leader of the group, thick and hulking, laughed evily. "You think we're going out to heave you?  Oh, no. We're going to _kill_ you."

Kylo struck out upon hearing his words.  He hit the smallest of the men using his long reach and quick speed, cutting his throat and running him through with the steel end of his blade.  He withdrew it as a gurgling noise and a bubbling of blood spewed from the man's neck, splattering the ground as he fell.

He turned his focus on the second man.  Kylo slashed forward, pressing ahead as he successfully blocked the blows which rained down upon him.  He lashed out, seeing the fear and uncertainty in the other man's eyes as one of his arcing attacks caught the fabric of the shorter man's shirt, a bloom of blood slowly staining the material around his waist.

The man staggered backwards as Kylo shouted, anger and indignation in his voice.

"You are on Sir Andrew Snoke's property, the Baronet of Anoat. Leave now, and I will spare you the rest of my blade."

A cruel laugh left the leader's lips as he spit out his next words maliciously. "The Snokes? Ahhh, but who do you think sent us here to welcome you?"

His momentary distraction was followed by a searing pain as Kylo felt the whoosh of sharp steel by his face, its deadly tip cutting through the flesh of his nose and his cheek, barely sparing his eye. The pain burned, the gaping redness and rough edges of the wound visible as he glanced around wildly, unable to focus due to his injuries and the revelation.

Bazine's parents wanted him out of her life.

They wanted him _dead._

He swung wildly, his panic and emotions overriding his attention and precision as he began to fight purely on feeling, becoming careless in his movements. He was enraged, pressing forward as several swings missed, before a fourth finally caught flesh. His opponent's backswing subsequently caught him in his right shoulder, and Kylo howled in anger and pain as he ran him through with his sword.

He turned on the leader, who looked at the carnage around him. Kylo was wounded but still standing. The leader had seen enough fights in his life to know that Kylo's adrenaline and physical prowess would allow him to continue to fight on, despite his injuries. It was a chance he didn't want to take with an experienced swordsman wielding a well-tempered blade.

"I'm sorry, Lord Ren. You seem like a square gent. But the Lady wants you dead, and it's time to meet Mr. Grim." He pulled out a pistol, shooting the young noble in the side.

Kylo felt his body drop to the ground, a warm, sticky liquid seeping out from his flank. He remained there, tasting the bile in his throat and the copper in the air, not caring if he gave in to the weakness which was overtaking him.

He heard the leader's footsteps run off into the distance. He kept his eyes closed, welcoming the pain which seared his face and his arms and his sides. He made no attempt to arise when he finally heard the approaching carriage or Hux's anxious shouts.  He remained still as his body was lifted by a set of four hands onto one of the carriage's seats. He felt the phantom sobs from his chest which wouldn't spill out between his painful breaths, as he croaked out his confession to Hux's horrified ears.

"She didn't want me, Hux. She never showed."

 

 **~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O** ~

 

Kylo made Hux promise to keep his ignominious secret. His family had bought his story that he was beseiged by a group of highwaymen as he recuperated in the privacy of Caserta Hall. Han and Leia were puzzled as the Snokes never appeared among the flow of visitors wishing Kylo a speedy recovery. Phasma was concerned as the moodiness and flashes of anger overtook the light and laughter of her brother, who was now prone to outbursts and displays of ill temperament. Everyone except for Hux wondered why Bazine never inquired after Kylo, until Kylo lied and told them that he had asked her to stay away, afraid that his scars would upset her delicate constitution.

He was willing to accept the falsehoods about his scarring and pain, permanent physical reminders of his weakness and gullibility. The reality was much more humiliating, filling him with mortification and shame.

Even as the days passed, there was a tiny part of him which held out hope. Hope that Bazine did not have knowledge of her parent's plans, that she would still come back to him, hold him in her arms, and whisper that she loved him, deformities and all. But days turned into a week, and a week into two, and at the end of seventeen days an announcement was made regarding the impending marriage of Miss Bazine Snoke to His Grace, the Duke of Silesia.

Kylo gripped the paper, his hands shaking as the print swam in front of him, wavering in and out of his view. Anguish roared through him. She was gone.  He was left empty, embittered, hideous, and a monster. He felt his heart darken, as the last remaining flicker of hope and light was snuffed out.


	7. The Unreadiness of Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Ren struggles as he realizes that his feelings for Rey may be verging on the inappropriate.
> 
> [excerpt]:  
> He stood the weapon in front of her, eyeing the quillons and nodding as they reached slightly below the span of her waist. He placed it in her hands, curling his fingers over her slim grasp and trapping it against the hardness of the rapier's elaborate cup-shaped hilt. His flesh seemed to burn into hers as he slid her forefinger over the crossguard, the silkiness of his deep baritone lulling her into a near hypnotic trance as he guided her forward.

* * *

 

_**Young men are apt to think themselves wise enough, as drunken men are apt to think themselves sober enough** _

_-_ Philip Stanhope, 4th Earl of Chesterfield

 

Kylo regained his footing, trying to tamp down the nausea which had bubbled up and threatened to overwhelm his senses.  The figure which stood in front of him was every bit as beautiful as he had remembered.  She was a ghost from his past: an apparition of everything he had once wanted, a tangible representation of his dreams.  But there were also subtle distortions, those differences which disputed his now inaccurate memories: the harder set of her jaw, the secretive look in her eyes, and the rigidity in her bearing which hinted at a cynicism and loss of innocence.

He was instantly wary, even as he realized that the same could easily be said of himself.

Bazine stepped forward in an effort to bridge the distance and the years between them. "Is that any way to greet an old friend?" she asked teasingly, her lightly painted lips curling up into a coquettish smile.

He stiffened, proffering a small bow while taking her right hand in his and gracing the back of its soft skin with the lightest brush of his lips before dropping it back unceremoniously to her side.  His acknowledgement was brief enough to be considered a greeting for only the most casual of acquaintances, and an affront to those who were not. She frowned at its inadequacy, glancing again at the striking young woman who stood beside him.

Kylo turned to Rey, his expression simmering with a mixture of repressed anger and disdain.

"Rey. May I introduce _Her Grace_ , The Duchess of Silesia. _Your Grace_ , I present Miss Kenobi, my ward."  There was no mistaking the derision which dripped off his words.  Bazine may have retained her exotic beauty, but there was also the matter of her new title, bought at the expense of his heart and for the price of his soul.

 _His ward_.  Things had certainly changed at Caserta in the last ten years.  Bazine noted how Kylo had leaned fractionally towards Rey in that moment, his body language protective and their proximity radiating a familiarity. His ward was young and unpolished, but there was no denying the delicate nature of her features, the laughter and intelligence in her eyes, or the spirit of her carriage. The girl was by no means a simpering fool, but the type of girl who could keep a man interested well past the initial attraction of her looks.

Bazine's eyes narrowed.  Her fingers traveled to Kylo's upper arm, lingering there possessively as she relished the tautness of his muscles and the heat which lay underneath.  The intimate gesture was accentuated by the plaintive request which left her lips, her words blanketing themselves around him in an effort to soothe his wounds.

"Darling. I missed you so very much. Please, may we go somewhere in private to talk?"

Kylo breathed deeply, fighting to keep his emotions in check.  He knew he should tell her to stay away, to never set foot on Caserta's grounds again, but the need to punish her for her betrayal and seek the answers to the questions which continually plagued him was overtaking his common sense.

Rey watched him quietly as the beauty of their afternoon together disappeared like the evanescent swish of fabric from Bazine's silken gown.  A tension and uncertainty settled over the room, compounded by the fact that there were currently three people present in a tableau meant for two.

Rey extricated herself as gently as possible to allow Kylo to make his decision without the added awkwardness of an unnecessary observer.

"My Lord.  I would like to thank you for the wonderful excursion this afternoon, although I admit that I am feeling quite tired after our ride.  Please excuse me, as I would like to rest before dinner."

Kylo smiled at her gratefully, relief washing over his features as he dipped his head slightly in assent.

Rey bid the two goodbye as Kylo led Bazine to the parlor. The space and location was less intimate than that of the library, and he had no desire to stir up additional memories of their youthful indiscretion.  Despite this, Bazine accepted his willingness to listen as a small victory.  She took a deep breath and sat, smoothing the folds of her gown and clasping her hands in her lap.  She tilted her face towards him, the angle accentuating the delicate slope of her shoulders and the vulnerable line of her neck. 

Kylo remained standing, using his considerable height and physicality to assert a dominance and confidence he didn't necessarily feel.  He stared at the only woman to whom he had ever pledged his love, impervious to the siren's call of her ebony hair and flawless skin, her voluptuous curves and her dark and expressive eyes.  His lips thinned as he remembered how those eyes had similarly pleaded for his understanding in the past.  Displeasure and resentment colored his words.

"You have some nerve Bazine, coming here after all these years."  His words were soft, yet dangerous.

She thrilled at his tone and the restrained, masculine fury which radiated off of him. She realized that she still had the ability to provoke his emotions, even if they were not the ones she initially sought.

It gave her something to work with. She decided to gift him with a small truth.

She sighed, lowering her eyes, a tinge of sadness in her voice.  "I missed you."

He turned towards her angrily, his jaw set and lips pressed into a cruel smile as he circled in front of her.

" _Missed me?_   Did you  _miss me_ when your family sought to place me six feet under the ground? Did you  _pine_ for me while I suffered from the pain of my wounds and a broken heart, without you by my side? Did you _long_ for me as you wore your expensive jewels and your gowns, little trinkets of your husband's affection?"  He sneered, spitting out his next words as he leaned in towards her, his intentions cutting and crude.

"Did you _yearn_ for me as you lay in the warmth of your bed, limbs entangled while you were being pleasured by another man's mouth and his cock?!"

Kylo stood over her seat, boxing her in between his arms, his words vibrating with outrage.

"I haven't seen or heard from you in ten years, Bazine, yet I have a permanent reminder of your treachery every day that I look in the mirror. I will not be played for a fool twice in my life." The muscle in his cheek twitched as if to amplify his statement.

Her eyes filled with sorrow and regret. Her voice softened.

"I never meant to hurt you, Kylo. I loved you then, and I still love you now. I would never take back our last night together, and if ---if things had been different, I would agree to run away with you to Gretna Green all over again."

She straightened and looked him directly in his eyes, their amber color flashing with his roiling emotions.  Her own were bright with unshed tears.

"The Duke and I are in the process of obtaining a _divortium a mensa et thoro_.  I could not bear it anymore, the unspeakable things I was forced to endure. My time away from you has been agony, my marriage the biggest mistake for which I can never fully make amends. I only ask that you hear me out, and that you open yourself to the consideration of letting me back in your life, even if it is only in the capacity of a friend."

She looked at him imploringly, and just as she had with nearly everything in her life, got her wish as she watched him settle his tall frame into a chair hesitantly.

The two sat there for well over an hour, and by the time they were done, he emerged, as conflicted and confused as ever.

　

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

 

Kylo gently threaded his arm through his companion's as they strolled through the flowering gardens, relishing the comfort and security she provided even as he towered over her by nearly a foot. The herbaceous borders of viburnum were punctuated by the bright pink and fuschia colors and fragrant perfume of the Portland roses, setting off a nice counterpoint to the white of her flowing morning gown.

The rest of the Organa-Solo family and staff had finally joined him in Caserta following the end of the Parliamentary Season, and the place was abuzz with activity. Leia resumed her responsibilities as the Lady of the house, while Kylo and Han oversaw the state of their tenancy and game in preparation for the fall hunts.  Kylo found himself oddly at ease despite the noise and traffic and his parents' scrutiny.

Leia's soft brown hair was wound in a neatly coiled bun, eschewing the tendrils and natural artifice of the Romanesque hairstyles which were currently popular. Her deep brown eyes sparkled with intelligence and wit, and her features still evidenced the great beauty of her youth, despite the faint silver streaks which now graced her temples and the delicate lines dotting the corner of her eyes.

Those eyes were filled with something akin to pride as she looked up at her only son.  The month spent in Caserta appeared to agree with him, quieting some of the restlessness and lack of purpose which often dominated his behaviors.

Leia stopped, grasping Kylo's hands. He hesitantly allowed himself to give in to the love she exuded in that gentle touch.

"I like Rey very much," she said slowly, gauging his reaction. "She is fascinating and strong.  She has your academic inclinations and Phasma's indomitable spirit."

Kylo couldn't suppress his smile as he recalled Rey's spittle-by-way-of-greeting on the day they first met. "Yes. She's a veritable bluestocking with quite the adventurous streak."

Internally, he was surprised and pleased with how easily his family had accepted Rey into their fold.  He had only recently realized in the days prior to their arrival that the act of inviting a complete stranger to Caserta--and a petty criminal, at that--followed by the assumption of responsibility for her upbringing was decidedly not one of his more well thought-out plans.  The rashness of the act only served to highlight those behaviors which forced Han and Leia to issue their ultimatum in the first place.  He had hemmed and hawed his way through the circumstances of the situation, highlighting what he had hoped was an altruistic bent, while purposefully leaving out the bit about his wager with Hux.  Once Leia met Rey, however, Kylo's fears subsided, as his mother quickly embraced the girl, welcoming her and subsequently taking her under her wing.

Leia had a serious look on her face.  "Han and I will be going into town tomorrow to seek out Plutt. The thought of subjecting mere children to such horrible abuse..."

Her voice trailed as she hung her head in shame. "How can I champion the rights of the populace and the need for economic reform in London when such hypocrisy exists in our very own country seat?"

Kylo looked to reassure Leia.  " _All things are ready if our minds be so."_

Leia smiled gratefully.  She paused, briefly hoping for an offer of his assistance.  She hid her disappointment when it was not forthcoming and continued.

"Rey has been providing us with much information regarding the details and breadth of Plutt's activities.  She is eager to assist others who were coerced into the lifestyle she had been forced to lead.  We will create viable opportunities for them, giving them the chance to make an honest living.  Her willingness and desire to help is truly a sign of her strength.  A lesser person could easily turn tail with their change in fortune in order to forget such a sordid and difficult period in their lives, yet she wishes to fight by our side."  

She mused.  "Rey's conviction appears to have been a family trait.  Do you know why she and her family were traveling to England?"

Kylo shook his head. He was surprised that Leia was able to glean such intimate knowledge from Rey in such a short period of time.

"There were questionable activities taking place regarding sovereign lands in the States.  It appears that Andrew Jackson had formed a business some twenty years prior designed to purchase and sell such lands, which were at that time contained within military bounds.  These were lands which were reserved by treaty for the Cherokee and Chickasaw tribes."

Kylo was surprised. "Andrew Jackson? As in General Andrew Jackson?" The General was currently battling the Creek Indians in the Southern United States, part of the Anglo-American War.  In addition to his questionable tactics regarding the relocation of the Indians, he was also an elite plantation owner of nearly 300 slaves, known to condone the whipping of fugitive slaves, or those who did not meet the plantation's standards of productivity.

Leia nodded, concurring with Kylo's expression of distaste. "Yes, the one and the same. Rey's parents felt that his business dealings may have violated the Royal Proclamation Act of 1763, and were planning to meet with some British sympathizers in an effort to prevent the private purchase of American Indian land. They were on their way from Virginia to London when they fell ill."

 _Virginia_.  Her lilting voice now made sense: it was not the unstressed sequences and raised tongue of New England or the clipped and semi-formal tones of the mid-Atlantic dialect, but a southern drawl adulterated over time by the Estuary English of London and the regional variance of Northern Maridunshire.

Leia indulged herself in a moment of self-reflection, she too having lost her mother at a very early age.  "I know Rey is too proud to want our sympathies in that way. Despite it all, she has been able to maintain her compassion for others and to find pleasure in the little things in life.  I am very pleased, that for whatever reason the Fates had in store for us, that she came into our lives."

Her gaze turned serious as she looked Kylo, a gentle but firm warning in her tone.

"I understand that you will be bringing Rey with you to London in the upcoming months. Although she has witnessed and survived more than her share of hardships, she is still unschooled when it comes to the social manipulations and calumniations of the peerage.  You will be exposing her to a den of vipers. I would hate to see her naivete lead to the loss of her faith and her ability to see the good in others."

Kylo looked out over the flowering hedges, missing his mother's meaningful look.

"Not to worry. I promise to always look out for her best interests."

 

 

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

 

Kylo frowned at the two figures on top of the hill, the clang of metal on wood and glints of silver cutting swaths agains a background of greens and blue.  The larger of the two was more powerful and aggressive, but the smaller lithe and agile, able to sidestep the attacks with a graceful motion.  He didn't recognize the figures from this distance, and as he moved closer to see which of the house staff could possibly be shirking their duties in the middle of the afternoon, he noted that the smaller of the combatants was backing up quickly,  eventually losing balance as the taller pressed forward, landing unceremoniously on their backside. Shouts of laughter pealed through the air, sounds which were decidedly...

_Feminine._

"Bloody Hell!"  He charged up the hill furiously, coming upon Phasma as she stood over Rey, holding out her hand as Rey grinned, standing.  He gazed at them critically as the two looked at him guiltily with flushed faces, tendrils of their hair escaping from their ties, the dampness of their linen tunics pressing against their chests, and the strain of their legs exhibited in extremely form-fitting breeches and boots.

Kylo swallowed.  "Rey.  We've spoken of this previously. A lady does not gallivant around wearing men's clothing.  It's..unbecoming."  He ground out his words even as his eyes raked hungrily across her form.

Phasma laughed. "Since when did you become such a stickler for formality, Kylo?  These are comfortable, and infinitely more practical when engaging in swordplay.  Besides, it's my fault.  Rey offered to show me how to ride astride, in time for the hunt, and I couldn't resist."  She paused, admiring the freedom of movement and the endless line of her tall limbs which the new clothing afforded her.

"I had these specially made for the both of us."  Phasma grinned wickedly, recalling the blush on the tailor's face when she and Rey had made their request known.

Kylo huffed as Phasma continued to look pleased, finally drawing his eyes to Rey.  Her pants were made of buckskin, and the custom fit hugged the shapeliness of her legs, highlighting the gentle swell of her thighs, the flex of her knees, and the soft curve of her bottom.  His voice stuttered, as he forced his eyes away from that delicious posterior.

Phasma had the gall to wink.  "I take it you approve?"

Kylo rolled his eyes. "Phasma, you're a lost cause already.  But you know very well that Rey does not have your history, or the protection of your title from catty gossip.  You have already been branded an eccentric, but for her...she would be called much worse."

Rey looked at Phasma conspiratorially.  "Lord Ren, if I may be so bold.  The breath of fresh air in the afternoon does me much good, and I enjoy very much the time I am allowed to spend with your sister.  I am hopelessly inept when hampered by the excessive fabrics of my skirts, and I believe that my bumbling efforts at dancing would be made much worse if I were to suffer repeated falls due to a heavy dress.  I promise that I will only wear my new clothing in the privacy of Caserta, and out of the prying eyes of company."

The chit had the temerity to look up at him prettily as Phasma came around to her side to plead on her behalf.

Kylo smiled in faint amusement at their efforts.  He knew that Rey was anything but bumbling, and that the two women had likely hatched an excuse to work around his earlier refusal regarding her request for masculine attire.  He also knew that he didn't need to acquiesce to their wishes, but the earnestness behind her request and the delicious outline of her body had his mind wandering to all the naughty things he would love to give in to happily.

He glanced at the weapon in her hand.  A practice rapier foil.  An interesting choice.  It was outdated and out of favor in terms of its practicality, although its shape and weight favored her quick speed and agility.  He wondered if she gravitated towards it having spent much of her life in the back alleys, drawn to the possibility of a weapon known for its fast and thrusting assault.

"Just a bit of polite swordplay for two, respectable young ladies on a nice summer afternoon?" He drawled, quirking up his eyebrow up quizzically.

He came over to Rey's side.  "My sister, in her overzealousness to finally meet another member of the fairer sex who shares her same interests, has neglected to refine your technique."  He pointedly ignored Phasma's feigned pout, picking up a different weapon as he tested its slender and rigid blade.  It felt weightless and lightning fast in its handling.  Rey took a deep breath as he brought it over to her, removing her foil from her hand, and holding the new one towards her.

He stood the weapon in front of her, eyeing the quillons and nodding as they reached slightly below the span of her waist.  He placed it in her hands, curling his fingers over her slim grasp and trapping it against the hardness of the rapier's elaborate cup-shaped hilt.  His flesh seemed to burn into hers as he slid her forefinger over the crossguard, the silkiness of his deep baritone lulling her into a near hypnotic trance as he guided her forward.

She looked at it hesitantly.  The blade was longer than the one she was using before.  "Are you sure, my Lord?"

"This is lighter, properly weighted, and will be easier for you to wield.  It is also the correct length for you."   He brought his arm alongside of her, extending it in a forward movement.

"Not so stiffly," he added, "Don't use the force of your whole arm from the shoulder when you thrust, it will slow you down."  He breathed the next words softly, asking her to trust the flow of her body and to withdraw from the limitations of her mind.

"Trust your natural instincts."

The flush and burning of her skin intensified as she experimented with her movements.  Rey was constantly aware of the hardness of his body supporting hers, the deep rumble in his chest as he voiced his instructions, and the heat of his lips near her ear.  She felt her heart quicken and her breathing catch, which had nothing to do with her physical exertions.

He placed his hand on her forearm, continuing to make the slightest adjustments, encouraging her to feel the change.  "What is the shortest distance between you and your opponent, Rey?"  He shook his head as she demonstrated a thrust.  "Your blade should not be brought in a curved line, but straight ahead. You'll extend your reach, and given your size and speed, it could make for an effective attack especially if you have the element of surprise on your side.  Always be in control of your movements."

She felt the disappointing loss as he disengaged from her, circling around to assess her form.  She repeated the movement for him, trying to feel the weight and shift in movement naturally.  Her control of the weapon improved, becoming faster, but something was still lacking in its finesse.

"I feel unbalanced."  She bit her lower lip in concentration, trying to place where she felt _off_.  "It is as if my arm movements are uncoordinated with those of my legs."  She couldn't resist.  "Even with the benefit of breeches."

Kylo laughed, the deep sounds causing Rey to grin and Phasma to raise an eyebrow in interest.  She missed her brother's carefree laughter, which nowadays seemed to always accompany a sardonic comment or thoughts of a particularly bawdy nature.

"It's the way you're standing on guard," he explained gently.  He repositioned himself in back of her, nudging her right leg forward with his thigh while using his hands to stabilize her back leg.  Her body tingled as his voice seemed to thicken.  "Place your weight slightly on your back foot.  It will aid you in both your defensive and offensive maneuvers, while maximizing your mobility."

She tried to settle into the stance, which Kylo abruptly halted.

"No," he rasped, his voice dark and low, taking his hands and placing them firmly on her hips, stilling them.  His breath was warm in her ear, sending shivers down her spine.  She felt the flush of heat from his whispered words as it travelled down the length of her body, settling in the pool of her stomach.  Kylo himself quieted briefly, before continuing.

"Take a deep breath. Inhale.  Now drop into guard, and exhale."  He murmured his approval as she practiced the exercise several times, finally removing his hands from her waist and coming to her side.  He removed the rapier temporarily from her grasp, bending down towards the ground as he eyed the line of her legs.

"Shift your weight so that it's concentrated in the front of your foot as you move," he stated, pointing to the box of her boot.  "That will increase your ability to move defensively in either direction, at a moment's notice."

Rey watched as Kylo concentrated on her form, his head lowered, the length of his locks falling across his face.  His shoulders were straining against the fabric of his jacket in this position, and she fought the urge to lower her hands and run them through softness of his hair, tucking the loose strands behind his ears and away from his eyes.  She had felt the quickening of his breath and the lowering of his voice as she stood, and wondered if he had felt the same heat and excitement as well.

Satisfied with her stance, he straightened, urging her on.  "All right, Rey.  Stand on guard, and lunge forward into a thrusting attack." 

Rey fell into a static guard, feeling the balance and pressure on her hind leg before transferring her weight forward, her knee flexed and the pressure stabilized in the front of her foot.  As she moved ahead, she brought her sword arm up and then down, followed by an extension forward.  Her body sang, the movements flowed, from her right arm through her legs and out her trunk and left side, exiting through her fingers.  She couldn't help the smile which spread across her face at the power and ease with which this was done, her weapon an extension of herself.

The heady excitement of success and the adrenaline of the day overwhelmed her as she took in Kylo's look of pride.  She ran over to him in her exuberance, leaning forward to give him a fierce hug.  She pulled back upon feeling him stiffen, her joy cut short at the look of shock and displeasure on his face.

Kylo was temporarily at a loss for words.  The color drained from his face as his lips turned down into a scowl.  Her happiness was crushed underneath his next words.

He could barely look her in the face as he straightened and pushed her away from his arms. 

"I see that I have been terribly remiss in allowing you such latitude.  From now on, Miss Kenobi, you will remember what it means to behave as a proper lady. There will be no more displays of inappropriate clothing, or participation in ill-suited pursuits, from here on out."

He didn't bother looking at the two women as he turned on his heel to head back home.

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

 

Rey stood at Kylo's door.  Her heart ached at his displeasure, although she was uncertain as to its exact cause.  She only knew that she was determined to apologize for, and correct whatever transgression he had perceived to have taken place.

She took a deep breath, steeled her resolve, and knocked.

Kylo sat in his room, listening to the tentative rapping.  He had sensed her the second she was there, confirmed by the soft, swirling sounds of her skirt against the oak door.  He envisioned her slightly pinched expression as she chewed her lower lip, the look of uncertainty in her hazel eyes as she mustered up the courage to confront him.

He poured himself a generous dram of Scottish whiskey, the rich and decadent amber liquid reflecting off the cut crystal of his glass.  He brought it to his lips, welcoming the initial burn in the back of his throat, later mellowed by its honey heather and smoked peat tones as he let the drink settle in his mouth.  He closed his eyes, gratified for his slightly inebriated state.

"Lord Ren?" She was still there, her voice calling to him from the other side.  There was a second knock, followed by a third, before he finally heard the defeated sounds of her retreating feet.

Kylo placed his head in his hands.  He was continually assaulted by unwanted images and sensations from that afternoon.  The fierce joy she showed at her competence and her rapidly growing skills.  The sensation of her pliable body against his as they moved as one, fitting perfectly like a sword sheathed in its scabbard.  The widening of her eyes and her progressively shallow breaths as she ran towards him in her excitement. The rounded curves of her breasts and the softness of her crotch against his thigh as she hugged him through the thin barrier of her tunic. 

The lesson had been exquisite torture.  He needed to bite back his audible groan when he felt her ass rocking and wiggling against his stirring cock as she settled into her guard.  When he had bent down to reposition her legs, it was all he could do to restrain his hands from sliding them against the poured fabric of her breeches and pulling her into him so he could bury his face in her crotch.  He had seen the desire in her eyes, felt her tremble at his touch, and knew how easy it would be for him to lead her down an ignominious path.

He knew it was wrong.  His conscience screamed that she was young, that she was his ward, that she was his responsibility. 

His mind toyed for a second with the knowledge that their age difference was not so unusual, and his devilish imagination flirted with the pleasurable lessons he could add to her currently staid curriculum.  His ruminations were cut short as he remembered his mother's words from that morning.

Rey was in many ways an innocent, something he definitely was not.

 _"Don't be a fool,"_ he thought angrily.  Leia had asked that Kylo protect Rey, but what Rey really needed was protection from someone like himself.  He could never give her the free and open heart which she wanted and deserved.  He belonged with someone who didn't care about his incapacity to love them in return, or who was as damaged and broken as he.  He would not destroy her life with false promises and hope, as his had been all those years ago. 

He slowly grasped a quill and began to write, the sharp, angled lettering of his missive filling up the parchment quickly as if he wanted the words to materialize and seep into its cotton and linen fibers before he changed his mind.  He watched as the iron gall ink darkened quickly from a light grey to a purplish black hue, marking the permanence of his decision.  He folded the paper, addressed it and affixed his seal, the molten wax cooling and congealing, sticking along the edges of the metal stamp.

He stared at the letter for another minute before ringing the bell.  Dopheld appeared quickly, entering through the dressing room.

"Yes, Mister Kylo?"

Kylo handed him the letter.  "Please make sure that this goes out with the post tomorrow."

Dopheld bowed.  "Of course, sir."  He turned the letter over, not wanting to smudge the ink, the imposing, scrawling script signaling a conciliatory gesture and the faint hope of a provision of succor for both the writer and its recipient.

 

_Her Grace, The Duchess of Silesia_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "All things are ready if our minds be so."  
> -William Shakespeare, 'Henry V:' Act 4, scene 3
> 
> Unfortunately for Kylo, he's not quite there yet....


	8. Dance lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey discovers that dancing may be a pleasurable experience, after all.
> 
> [excerpt]:  
> " _Un moment,_ _s'il vous plait_. If I may impose on you just one more time, Lord Ren. Miss Kenobi has made such remarkable progress today, there is another dance I would like her to learn, with your assistance." He held his left arm dramatically overhead while his right arm curved gently towards the side, his left leg extended in a delicately pointed line.
> 
> " _The French waltz,_ " he announced, with an excited flourish.

* * *

 

**_Dancing is in itself a very trifling, silly thing; but it is one of those established follies to which people of sense are sometimes obliged to conform, and then they should be able to do it well._ **

-Philip Stanhope, 4th Earl of Chesterfield, Letters to His Son on the Art of Becoming a Man in the World and a Gentleman

 

It was a particularly nice day, the autumn sun still providing a pleasant warmth despite the longer shadows of the afternoon. The leaves were beginning to turn, and a few precocious ones fell to the ground, their brittle edges curling and giving way as the horses trod over the lightly carpeted path. Sweet chestnut trees flowered, their spiny protective husks providing a tantalizing peek of the rich meat within, to be roasted and savored during the Christmas season.  The larch had turned a golden yellow, its winged seeds occasionally escaping from underneath their loosened, conical scales to travel with the wind.

The two men were silent, comfortable in their familiarity and with each other to eschew minor pleasantries and inane chatter.  Kylo surveyed the thick brush and thickets near the fields, the vegetation untrampled and showing no physical evidence of poaching. An occasional flash of gold and green was spotted near the gravelly roads, the pheasants lured from their hiding spots by their need to feed in the late afternoon.  Their boldness was quickly followed by the sound of whirring wings and their tikking cries as the horses drew near, the colorful birds seeking refuge in the skies.

Kylo smiled with satisfaction. The berries and clover were abundant, and there were many visible nests throughout the grounds. There would be plenty of pheasants in time for the hunt and to grace their dinner tables in the upcoming weeks.

He looked at the man riding beside him. Hux was uncharacteristically quiet, his eyes thoughtful and distant.

Kylo frowned. "You have yet to say two words since you've arrived this morning. Have my considerable charms left you so overwhelmed as to render you tongue-tied?"

His expression turned serious and his voice gentled as he took in Hux's wan smile. "I can only imagine how the events of the last several months weigh heavily on your mind."

Hux ran his hand through his hair, silently acknowledging Ren's assessment. He had traveled towards Burgos with General Arthur Wellesley in the past month, seizing upon the opportunity to defeat the French Army when Bertrand Clausel took a large number of his troops north of Madrid.  In a rare miscalculation, however, the British Army found themselves short in both number and artillery, suffering heavy damages, starvation, and mass casualties as a consequence. The influx of French relief soldiers under Joseph Souham several weeks later finally forced their withdrawal, a rarity for Wellesley's troops. By the time Hux headed back to England, the damage was done: the number of the dead and wounded in the thousands, with discipline and morale in shambles.

"Sorry, Ren." Hux sighed. There was a dissonance between the beauty and peace of Caserta and the ugliness and violence of the battlefield which still tore at him.

His left hand lowered to his thigh unconsciously.  It was only a flesh wound, but one which caused him a slight limp and temporarily prevented his return to battle. His gait had grown steadier and the wound less angry as the weeks progressed, but the thin, silvery-pink tissue which contrasted with his fair skin served as a daily reminder of those who were not as fortunate.

He exhaled. "I'm just tired from the trip this morning.  The coachman treated his horses in an abominable manner, and we finished the journey with just two left of the four." Kylo remained silent, allowing Hux to gather his thoughts.

Hux continued.  "I'm not feeling sorry for myself, just so you know. I realize that I am more fortunate than most. It is the condition of those who cannot feel anymore which occupies my mind."

Kylo looked him over. "You cannot feel guilty for having survived, Hux. Your men need you, and I am sure that they would feel no compulsion to place themselves right back under your command once you are well enough to return.  You remain here with us, perhaps for a higher purpose, and for this I am selfishly glad."  Kylo was not a religious man by any means, only remaining a member of the Anglican church out of a sense of misplaced duty, but in this case, he believed his words whole-heartedly.

Hux looked over at the unspoiled, expansive greenery, a far cry from the acrid smoke and harsh sounds of the wounded in battle.  He hoped that Ren's faith was not misplaced.  Hux had always possessed the natural ability to lead and instill a fierce loyalty in his troops.  He realized that he would need to be strong in both his physical and emotional states to continue to do so, and in that moment made the determination to spend his convalescence embracing that very concept.

He turned towards his friend, his face brightening. "How are things with our little pickpocket?"

Kylo noted the small smile which curved on Hux's lips and the unmistakable interest and lightness in his tone.

"She is excelling in most of her studies. She is exceedingly smart, and Master Luke has been pleasantly surprised with the level of her academic interest and progress."

Hux raised a brow. " _Most_ of her studies?"

Kylo grinned. "Well, Rey is--shall we say--less adept in other areas of pursuit. Just yesterday, she took an extreme dislike towards a needle which had dared to prick her finger more than once, and left the offending object and her needlepoint in several pieces on the floor."

Kylo wondered how she would fare with Master Forel this afternoon. It had not escaped his attention that the poor man had worn progressively thicker and heavier shoes with each successive dance lesson.

Hux genuinely laughed.  Kylo turned, ashamed at the flash of jealousy which flared in response.  The words slipped out before he could stop them, making him feel petty and small.

"Are you--interested in her?"

Hux turned, surprised to see the curious mix of possessiveness followed by resignation which washed over Ren's face.

"Of course.  But not in the way that I believe you are implying." 

Hux continued, his eyes now focused ahead.  "Miss Kenobi is a breath of fresh air in a world which can be occasionally suffocating.  I wish her every success and happiness, even if it comes at the expense of my honor and reputation."  He drew his brows together in consternation.  "Go easy on me, Ren, in whatever 'activity' it is that you have planned for me in your devious little mind."

Kylo smirked.  He had not forgotten the terms of their wager.

Hux mused.  "Perhaps if it were a different time in the world, I would have pursued her affections.  But an officer's life is a difficult one, and not something I would wish for one so young and lonely."  He let out a sigh.  "I need someone who has knowledge and experience of the world around us, who can understand the things which I have seen and still appeciate the joy and beauty in life."

He brought out his next words slowly.  "What of you, Ren?  There is no denying that Rey is a very beautiful woman."

Kylo exhaled.  "Yes, she is.  She will make a fine match.  I have no doubt that all the dimber coves in London will be vying for her attention, waiting to sweep her off her feet."

Hux asked gently.  "And you don't think that one of them could be you?"

Kylo scoffed.  "You know me, Hux.  The gossip and scandal attached to my name."  His voice dropped into a low growl.  "How I like to keep my company.  All of my past, and my current...pursuits.  Rey belongs with a knave in grain, not an out-an-outer."

"And yet you still have not answered my question, Ren."

Kylo caved under Hux's knowing stare.  "It matters not now, anyway.  I have invited Bazine to the Winter Ball at Caserta, and left open the possibility of continuing our acquaintance once we return to London."

"What?!!"  The admission ruffled Hux's normally cool demeanor, causing him to yank back on the reins a little too forcefully and his horse to rear.

Ren's grew stubborn upon hearing the anger in Hux's voice.  "Bazine made a call to Caserta recently.  It appears as if she will not be tied to that crusty beau of a husband for much longer."

Hux's lips thinned.  "I hope you are not looking for my blessing and congratulations, Ren, because I can't give them to you.  It is unforgivable, what she has done."

"And I would say the same to you as a concerned friend if the roles were reversed.  But Bazine has herself suffered greatly as a result of her parents' interference.  She was taken to Silesia on the very night we were supposed to meet, and the things which subsequently befell her during her marriage..."  Ren's voice choked.  "They are things you would not wish on your worst enemy.  Indiscretions and indignations, which were told to me in confidence, and which are not mine to divulge."

Hux shook his head, as he replied softly.  "But Ren.  Even if that were true.  The news of your near death did not escape the papers, nor the gossip rags.  Ten years, and without any attempts on her end to see how you were faring, to reach out to you until now?"

Kylo sighed as Hux echoed those doubts which still lingered in his mind.

"It is only an invitation at this point, Hux.  Nothing more." 

 

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

 

"Good afternoon, Mister Kylo. Lord Hux." Daniels greeted the men as they entered Caserta Hall.  He handed Kylo a letter, folded in quarters and covered in a masculine script.

"Mister Kylo. The horse messenger dropped off this post while you were out riding."

"Thank you, Daniels." Kylo looked over the letter and the unfamiliar penmanship, scanning its contents quickly as he broke out into a smile.

"Colonel Dameron will be arriving here in a fortnight to work with the Lipizzan.  I am excited to see how--"

 _"Oooof!"_ A groan came from the direction of the Great Hall.  Hux and Kylo turned in time to see a slight male emerge.  There was a pained look on his face as he bent over, his hands making a slow clutching motion in the region of his groin.

 _"Il est impossible! Elle a deux pieds gauches!"_ he gasped.

Hux's shoulders silently shook as Kylo tried unsuccessfully to prevent his laugher from escaping. The flurry of silks and a whirlwind of a girl followed close behind.

"I am so sorry, Master Forel!" Rey caught the gazes of the two men who were watching with unabashed amusement, as her face flushed.

"Hello, My Lords. Master Forel has been teaching me an English country dance."

"Dancing, Miss Kenobi, is not a matter of walking aimlessly through the figures and changes.  Or tromping on toes, or your partner's more--delicate regions!"  His last words came out in a squeak.

Rey grumbled. "Yes, well I suppose that's easy enough to say when one does not feel like a cow tied up in one's bed sheets. Perhaps I may just sit out and watch, then, when the time comes?" she added hopefully.  "It may spare my future partners any further indignity."

" _Ah non ! Ça ne marche pas!_ I will not allow a student of mine to sit out of because of incompetence and defeat!"

Kylo looked at Rey gently. "It may seem trifling, Rey, but dancing is unfortunately one of those essential skills you must learn to master in order to make yourself a good match."

Master Forel motioned to the two men, bouyed by Ren's support.

"You will partner with one of these gentlemen, and we will go over the steps once more!"

Kylo could have sworn that Hux's limp grew ridiculously exaggerated as he sat himself down in the nearest chair.

"Ahhh, yes. Unfortunately, Monsieur Forel, my leg feels a bit too stiff to perform the necessary jumps. Lord Ren, however, is quite an accomplished dance partner, if the number of times he has appeared on the ladies' dance cards in Almack's is any indication." He stretched out his long legs lazily, a sly smile widening across his face as he looked pointedly at Kylo.

"My apologies."

Kylo glanced at Hux, his friend's expression anything but apologetic.

"Ever the gentleman, Lord Hux." He offered his hand to Rey. "Shall we, Miss Kenobi?"

Master Forel gave a delighted clap as he led the pair to the center of the room.  The dance master stood next to Kylo, with Rey facing the two men, as Forel led them in a cotillion.

Rey was paired initially with Master Forel, mimicking the introductions and honors of the dance.  They advanced and retired twice as Kylo performed the identical steps to their side. Rey felt a flush of accomplishment as she managed that portion without trodding on anyone's toes; indeed, it was much easier with Kylo present as it provided her with another source of direction.  She moved through her figures, long balancing and turning by her right hand towards Kylo until they were eventually paired with one another. Kylo looked at her encouragingly as she began to fall into the rhythmic and lilting movements of the dance.

Forel was ecstatic with her progress, adding the more difficult rigadoon steps and star figures into the mix.  Rey was surprised at the elegance and dexterity which belied Kylo's long limbs. His glides were slow and elegant, and his jumps lively while his upper body and arms remained appropriately graceful and strong.  Under his partnership, her legs moved more quickly, her steps in synchronicity with his, her jumps more timely and fluid. She felt a delighted laugh leave her lips at the end, her body warm from the exertion and the giddiness at her success.

"Well done, Miss Kenobi!" Master Forel looked as if he had witnessed a miracle.

Kylo brought his lips to the back of her hand as he bowed, a twinkle in his eyes. "Thank you for the dance, Miss Kenobi."

Master Forel made a strangled sound as Kylo retreated.

" _Un moment,_ _s'il vous plait_.  If I may impose on you just one more time, Lord Ren.  Miss Kenobi has made such remarkable progress today, there is another dance I would like her to learn, with your assistance."  He held his left arm dramatically overhead while his right arm curved gently towards the side, his left leg extended in a delicately pointed line.

" _The French waltz,"_ he announced, with an excited flourish.

Kylo frowned.  He was well familiar with the waltz, having been taught its scandalous steps by Isabelle de Montespan several years ago.  The dance was a particular favorite of Baron Neuman as well, although the majority of London society, including the patronesses at Almacks, deemed the required arm positions and intimate physical contact as indecent. 

"Master Forel, I am not sure that the waltz is a necessary nor an appropriate dance for Miss Kenobi to learn."

Master Forel looked chagrined at Kylo's challenge to his judgment.  Hux continued to watch the proceedings with increased interest and obvious amusement at Kylo's discomfort.

"Nonsense!  The English are still hesitant to embrace it's beauty, while the rest of the European aristocracy have been performing it for well over forty years!  Mark my words, your country will soon realize what the rest of the continent knows, and Miss Kenobi will be at an advantage for having learned it!  Fifth position, _s'il vous plait_."  He proceeded to position them in a Marche posture, leaving Kylo no room for argument.  Rey's breath hitched as their left arms were placed on the back of each other's shoulders, their right arms curved in front.  Kylo's hand was hot in her grasp, as she felt his body temporarily stiffen and then relax within the pose.

Master Forel led them from the March steps into fourth position and then into the actual waltz.  Kylo and Rey's arm attitudes changed as the dance began, their right hands now holding one another as they turned face to face.

Rey was acutely aware of Kylo: the smell of the fabric of his woolen waistcoat, the smooth cut of his shirt against his chest, the roughness and strength in his hands as they began to move around the floor.  They maintained eye contact with one another as the dance required, although his eyes seemed to bore more intently into hers as the dance progressed.  The slow and graceful rotations grew more intimate as Kylo led them through the changes once again, placing his hand along her narrowed waist as they danced side by side, her left arm to his shoulder and their hips barely touching as she pirouetted against him. 

She was flushed, the proximity of his body too great to bear and yet still not enough.  Her silken dress rustled and flowed with each movement, smooth against her hot skin, her whirling skirt flowing out with each turning figure and trailing behind her body's movements as they continued to pick up speed.  Rey tilted her head, as she watched his eyes darken, the rhythmic movements of his chest becoming more pronounced.  The hand on her waist drew her closer, subtly enough so it wasn't visible through the voluminous fabric of her gown to observing eyes, but with just enough force to increase the contact of their bodies so she was left gasping for breath.

She was flying as they circled the room.  She missed Master Forel's look of surprise as Kylo guided her into a more provocative pose, their legs nearly intertwined as his arm came to rest along her upper back.  Rey rested her hands on his tall shoulders, the position and their height difference forcing him to lower his head slightly.  An unruly lock of hair fell forward, their faces nearly touching, his lips close to her ears as his breath brushed against her cheek.

_What a torment it is to see so much loveliness passing and repassing before us, and yet not dare to lay hold of it._  

 

Her eyes flew open as she jerked out of their hold to look directly at him.  His gaze never wavered from hers, and his expression remained unchanged.

Rey's thoughts roiled, uncertain as to whether Kylo had actually whispered those words, or whether they were the product of her desire and an overactive imagination.  She felt the blood roar in her ears, leaving a residual heat in her belly and an ache in her heart as the dance concluded.  She remained in his hold, unaware that the music had stopped, until Kylo slowly extricated himself from their intimate embrace.

The chattering of Master Forel in the background broke through her haze. 

".....truly remarkable.  Lord Ren, who knew that you were so adept at the slow and sauteuse forms of the waltz?   _Superbe!"_

Rey held her hand to her cheek, staring at Kylo as Master Forel continued to compliment her advancements from that afternoon. 

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

Later that night, in the privacy of her room, Rey recounted her lessons.  She decided that she liked dancing, so very much, as she remembered the feel of Kylo's body against her own, secure and strong.  She reimagined their steps as they gracefully turned, away from prying eyes, the edges of the floors and the shapes of their surroundings blurring and fading as they picked up speed.  She relived the slow drop of his head towards hers as she rested her hands against his shoulders, the music quieting in the background, Kylo's voice murmuring softly as he quoted Goethe in her ear.  And she dreamt of the gentleness and fullness of his lips as he moved closer still, descending upon her slowly, until he finally claimed her with a kiss.

 


	9. Haute Ecole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Colonel's arrival at Caserta Hall sets many hearts aflutter...
> 
> [excerpt]:  
> Finn keeps telling himself that this is the reason why his walks have become more frequent in the past week, and that it has nothing to do with the unsettling happiness he experiences when he is graced with the cavalryman's bright smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies first: There is no Ren in this chapter. There is plot development and a sidebar for the Stormpilot ship. As a promise and a bit of a tease, chapter 10 will change the dynamic between Kylo and Rey in a significant way.... <3

* * *

 

**_I find, by experience, that the mind and the body are more than married, for they are most intimately united; and when one suffers, the other sympathizes_ **

-Philip Stanhope, 4th Earl of Chesterfield

　

The two letters sat tucked away under lock and key, hidden safely from prying eyes. Bazine pulled out the pages carefully, unfolding the first along the quarto's lines. The thick paper had already begun to thin and soften around the edges, its sharpness dulled after one too many readings. This was not a letter stuffed with insensibly cramped and cross-written sentiments.  Instead, Kylo's script was large and commanding, his bold strokes scrawling aggressively across the page.

Bazine's daily readings had recently become more of a habit than a necessity, having long memorized Kylo's disappointingly terse communication.  He had extended an invitation to the Winter's Ball at Caserta Hall, acknowledged that he would return to London for the upcoming Season, and wished her eventual peace and happiness. But it was all those little things which were _not_ said--the lack of vitriol, the absence of accusation, and most importantly, not the slightest hint of another who may have replaced her in his heart-- which made Bazine's hopes soar.

The abigail brushed Bazine's thick and glossy locks, her delicate and nimble fingers gathering the ebony lengths and sweeping them into a romantic knot before anchoring the design with a plaited braid around its base. A small smile of satisfaction touched the young girl's lips. She was pleased with her artistry, although in retrospect, it was not altogether difficult given the canvas and the supplies which she had at her disposal.

She massaged Bazine's temples in an attempt to relax her mistress.

"Are you ready, Your Grace?" The girl took a deep breath, trying to remain steadfast.  Her mistress would not take kindly to shows of weakness or pity.

Bazine's face softened briefly at the girl's poorly masked nervousness.

"Don't be afraid, Elle. The embarrassment will lessen as I continue to heal.  Please, mend me with your expert hands."

Elle swallowed, unsure if the feeling of embarrassment was directed towards her mistress or herself.  She lowered Bazine's chemise, the cotton fabric gliding over pale, smooth skin. Her fingers traced the graceful curves of the Duchess' shoulders and the silkiness of her back as the fabric slid further south, past a tiny span of a waist before settling on top of the rounded flesh of her buttocks.

Elle's hands stilled, as she reached that place where angry pink replaced cream. Damaged flesh criss-crossed across the delicate skin of Bazine's inner thighs and her lower back. Raised welts splayed against once-purpled blooms, undercut by faint, silvery scars, marring those regions which remained hidden to all but those with the most intimate familiarity.

Elle poured Milk of Roses onto the wounds as Bazine flinched, gently massaging the drops of almond oil and rose water into the affected skin in an effort to erase the now-imperfect complexion.

Bazine closed her eyes as Elle's fingers worked their way into the soft tissues and the muscles underneath, her gentle touch contrasting with memories of a torturous hand and a forceful lash.

There was a quick knock on the door as Lady Snoke entered without invitation. There was a pinched look on her face as her cold, grey eyes took in Bazine's state. Traces of the older woman's beauty were still visible, but the years had lined her face with a hardness which lent her a severity even in those rare instances when she smiled.

Watching Bazine and Elle, Lady Snoke recalled those quiet moments from her daughter's childhood: a little girl, filled with the potential of her looks and her effect on men, dreaming of a future far away from the dark and crumbling walls of Ambria Hall, firmly guided by a mother's single-minded ambition.

A look of regret flashed in those icy grey eyes.  The sentimentality was quickly replaced as she adopted a detached expression.

"Elle, would you mind giving us a moment of privacy, please?"

Elle nodded, capping the jar of rose milk as she hastened out of the room.

Lady Snoke sighed as the maid left. She viewed her daughter's now-marked flesh, unscrewing the bottle and taking up where Elle had left off.

"Such a shame," she whispered. Her tone and the thin line of her lips made Bazine think that her comment was directed more towards the state of her skin and not her emotional well-being.

Bazine hissed, a cruel laugh threatening to spill from her mouth. "Think of the irony, mother. All those nights, all that time spent on perfecting my appearance, on creating an ideal of beauty. To end up scarred and disfigured, as the fates would have it, by a man who pursued me based upon my looks, and chosen by your own hand."

Lady Snoke didn't back away from the accusation. "Every decision I made, Bazine, was done with only your best interests at heart. I have devoted everything I have to giving you the life you deserve.  One that I could only dream to have."

She pressed into the flesh a little more forcefully than was needed, causing Bazine to wince.  "And if memory serves me correctly, you were not a passive participant in this matter. You were given a _choice_."

"What choice?" Bazine fumed, her anger causing her voice to rise shrilly. "A choice between leaving the man I loved since I was a little girl, or staying with him while you and Wilhuff shame me and leave my reputation in ruins?"

Lady Snoke sneered. "Your youthful foolishness was no match for reality, Bazine. You knew we had agreed to the engagement with the Duke before Lord Ren came running into our home with talks of love and a parson's mousetrap. You did nothing to dissuade him; instead you encouraged his silly fantasies.  It was up to me to pick up the pieces.  The Duke would have had every right to sue us for breach of promise had you backed out of the marriage. It would have meant the end of Ambria House, and a death knell to your future in society."

Bazine's eyes were bright with unshed tears.  "He still found other ways in which to take out his displeasure."

Lady Snoke leaned forward sanctimoniously, her eyes narrowed and unforgiving. "Make no mistake, my darling daughter. Your present condition is the result of your own actions.  It is your uncontrollable indecency and lust which lead to your own ruin."

There was a determined set to Bazine's mouth. The threat which underlied her words were unmistakable.

"My dear mother.  I have had enough of your interference and meddling to last me a lifetime. By my own hand, and by my own design, the pieces are finally coming into play. The divorce will go through. I will go to Caserta Hall next month, and by that time, my poor, sweet Elle will have unleashed enough gossip about my unfortunate state that caring folks will reward me with their misplaced sympathies while jealous ones comfort themselves with their false superiority."

She gazed into the mirror, a fervent look in her eyes.

"And in the end, I will have Kylo by my side, as he was always destined to be."

In that moment, she appeared very much the progeny of her mother, as she looked on with a malicious smile and a calculating gaze.  She tucked a loose tendril behind her ear, smoothing it down artfully.

"After all, mother, when it comes to the game of manipulation, I've learned from the best."

Bazine waved her mother off, signaling their conversation was over. She picked up the second letter when she was once again alone.  The page shook, her hand trembling slightly. The letter was shorter than the first, but its message unmistakably clear.

 

**_À l'œuvre, on connaît l'artisan_ **

**_Les habitudes ont la vie dure_ **

_**À la prochaine*** _

 

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

 

"Oh, his eyes are warmer and sweeter than that of drinking chocolate!"

"Ha! And I wager you would not mind adding some sweet cream to the mix and bringing it to a boil..."

"Oh, la, what a wicked mind you have, Millicent!"

"His smile. It is brighter than a thousand suns..."

"While his mind and wit are sharper than a thousand knives."

Their giggles burst amongst a chorus of feminine sighs.

　

For the past week, the conversation at the breakfast table in the Servant's Hall had centered around the Honorable Sir Poe Dameron, a Colonel with the 5th Dragoon Guard. Although the Organa-Solo's newest guest had arrived with the purpose of evaluating and training one of Lord Ren's horses, his considerable charms had provided Caserta's young staff with plenty of gossip and flights of fancy in the process.

The good-natured Colonel had swept into Caserta Hall with a quick smile on his face and an even quicker quip on his lips. He exuded a brash competence which invited the confidences of those around him. His dark, wavy locks swept over a masculine jaw, and his expressive eyes could sparkle with mischief in one moment and drown you in their depths in the next. His dichotomy of cockiness and thoughtfulness, and gregariousness and self-reflection proved to be intoxicating to both men and women alike.

Finn hid a smile as he drank his tea amidst the idle gossip which fluttered around the staff breakfast table.

The young footman had worked for the Marchess' family for the past seven years, serving as first footman for the last two. His employers were kind and generous, and he reciprocated by giving them his loyalty and dedication. Finn was strong and handsome, responsible and industrious, and could easily outrun the other footmen of the neighboring households, a source of boastful pride. He was polite and respectful, always attentive, and never obtrusive.

He was glad that his employers never required him to perform the powdering of his hairs as was mandated in some other households. The daily ritual of powdering, combined with the harsh washings and necessary oil applications, were not only uncomfortable and damaging to his scalp, but looked incongruous with his person.

Finn was used to dealing with some incongruity his entire life. His dark and exotic looks set him apart physically. Unlike many others in his position, he did not have the education, command of multiple languages, nor the desire to become a future valet. Even amongst the extensive, nearly forty member staff of Caserta, he felt a bit of an outsider. He was accepted, of course, into their makeshift family of sorts, but it still didn't assuage his longing to have one of his own.

Unlike some of the other male staff, he was not married, and had no need for a multitude of days off each month to return home to people whom he loved. He continued to work hard instead, accepting of his situation even if he was not completely content. He scrupulously saved his wages, always yearning to have something more.

Perhaps he would eventually save enough to eventually find employment elsewhere, get married and settle down. A hotel in London, or one of the popular inns in town would be a good choice when he got older. The locale would be a much easier thing to determine than the person with whom he would share those future years with. Until now, he had not met anyone who sparked that desire within him.

His musings were interrupted as Mrs. Kanata admonished the chattering girls sternly, albeit not unkindly.

"Jessika, Millicent and Katherine. Enough prattling about our new guest, as pleasing on the eyes as he may be.  You sound like a gaggle of caper-witted chits, the lot of you! I believe that it is past the time to attend to Lady Phasma and Miss Kenobi's ablutions and their dress?"

The young women looked mildly chastened as they headed upstairs.

Deep down, Finn understood their attraction to the handsome cavalryman. He had felt the effects of Sir Dameron's charisma as well. It had been difficult for Finn to maintain his polished facade upon hearing the Colonel's cheerful voice for the first time, or when he saw the kindness behind those soft eyes. He had fought to control the hesitancy in his voice as he announced the new visitor's arrival. He had refrained from flinching at the uneasy thrill he experienced when the Colonel's fingers had brushed unassumingly against his own. And he continually worked to keep the shy excitement and anticipation from his face during his afternoon walks by the stables, which had since become a regular habit.

The time between half past two and four in the afternoon was always a favorite for Finn. On the days where Mr. Daniels had the responsibility of answering the door, and when there were no errands to run, Finn was gifted with a glorious amount of leisure time before tea. Finn enjoyed walking the grounds of Caserta during these hours, especially in the late autumn. The expanse of the outdoors and the crisp, cool air was a nice change from his small room, a temporary reprieve from his responsibilities and that continual feeling of longing.

Finn keeps telling himself that this is the reason why his walks have become more frequent in the past week, and that it has nothing to do with the unsettling happiness he experiences when he is graced with the cavalryman's bright smile.

 

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

 

The early afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the storefronts.  Heavy, oaken doors with well-worn handles lay ready to welcome the next fashionable shopper, the light tinkling of a bell over the threshold signaling a readiness to indulge in their vanity.   Large windows framed by awnings showered passersby with a multitude of offerings: jeweled confections of silks, taffetas, ribbons and lace in the milliner’s; embroidered materials, slubbed silks, matte leathers, and shiny adornments on footwear of varying heights at the cobbler's; cravats knotted in multiple configurations, quilted vests, sleek gloves, and coats trimmed in velvet at the haberdashery.

Rey walked next to Phasma excitedly, dressed in a slim-fitting pelisse edged with contrasting fabric and frog fastenings.  She pulled her velvet poke bonnet closer to her head, affording her some modesty and warmth from the autumn chill.

She had spent so many years gazing longingly at these windows and at the women who entered them, hidden in the shadows of the narrowed alleyways, wondering what the sumptuous fabrics would feel like between her fingers and against her skin.  Part of her had always known that she did not require such things to be proud of who she was—her fiercely independent streak and sharp mind was what allowed her to survive all those years under Plutt, and not the fur lining on a silken gown.  But she was honest enough to acknowledge the desire to indulge that part of her which was denied so many things for so long, as well as to appease her feminine vanity.

The two were in town in preparation for the Winter’s Ball, which now lay just several weeks away.  They passed a shop selling reticules and hosiery, until Phasma broke out into a grin as they reached their first stop.

Phasma was dressed smartly in a woolen Spencer jacket, the red fabric covering a heavily woven cotton dress.  The jacket’s high collar and tight sleeves lent her a somewhat austere appearance, while simultaneously complimenting the elegant line of her throat and her long limbs.  Like Rey, she was also wearing a bonnet, although it was simple in form, lacking the florid embellishments of bows and lengths of ribbon.

“Moore is a true artist, Rey.  His shoes rival any of those on Wood’s shelves.”

They opened the door, the wooden counter in the back piled high with leathers and fabrics of the trade. A man sat on a wooden stool, his lapstone, whet-board, burnishers and nippers surrounding him as he hammered on the last.  Samples of shoes decorated the shelves:  slippers of printed leather and deep, rich satin;  pointed toe mules with detailed embroidery; and delicate silk shoes in three inch heels and paste stones. The shop assistants had gathered around a seated woman, her back turned towards the door as she extended an elegant foot, her voice laughing and tone lilting.

Phasma’s lips were in a tight line as she grabbed Rey's arm and turned away from the store. One of the young women who was attending to the customer startled at the sound of the door and looked up, only to catch two figures retreating underneath the ridiculously wide brims of their bonnets.

"Sorry, Rey.”  Phasma muttered under her breath.  “I refuse to be in the same room for any length of time more than is required of me with that woman."

Rey knew immediately who the customer had been, without ever seeing her face. There was no mistaking those ebony locks, the elegant drape of those shoulders and that pale, porcelain skin.　

“That was the Duchess of Silesia, was it not?”  she asked, as Phasma looked at her with surprise.  Rey hesitated, before blurting out her next words.  “She had paid a call to Caserta Hall the week before you arrived from London.  She seemed to be very familiar with your family.”  _Your brother seemed to know her very well_ , she wanted to add

Phasma's face immediately pulled into something hard and angry.

"Yes.  Her family are the Snokes of Anoat, who occupy the neighboring country seat. We have known the Snokes since my brother and I were children. Bazine and Kylo are of the same age, and were very close in growing up."

Rey held her breath, feeling a sudden mix of aching and longing tinged with jealousy upon hearing Phasma’s words.  She thought back to Bazine’s visit, and the rush of emotions which warred on Kylo’s face: lust, fury, shock, combined with the biting anger behind his words of introduction.

"Bazine has always had influence over Kylo. His friendship with her was only secondary to the one he had with Lord Hux, and as they grew older, that connection, bolstered by her beauty, led into love."

Phasma said it so simply and matter-of-factly that Rey knew that it couldn’t have been anything but the relationship’s natural conclusion.  She looked ahead at the stores, their colorful windows looking less joyous, as if it’s rich wares were something which would forever remain outside her grasp.

"What happened between the two of them?”

A sigh escaped from Phasma's lips. "Kylo always imagined that they would be married. It was a relationship which her parents appeared to encourage as well.  However, when Bazine turned eighteen, she became promised to another.

"I suspect the temptation of political favor and monetary gain was too powerful for the Snokes to resist.  Kylo's request for Bazine's hand in marriage was turned down, and he was heartbroken."

She looked at Rey, hesitating before she continued. "Honestly, I can't say that there wasn’t a part of me which was relieved when they refused his offer. My heart ached for my brother, but I've always felt that Bazine never had Kylo's best interests at heart.  She never let him know that she was intended for another, even when his own were clear."

Rey must have worn an surprised expression at Phasma’s forthrightness as the older woman gave her a sly grin.

"Believe me, I believe that my distaste for that woman is entirely reciprocated. And I care not a whit.  That scar on Kylo’s cheek?  He received it as a result of a botched robbery by a group of highwaymen. That attack nearly ended his life, and although it didn’t succeed in taking his last breath, it stole from him something just as important.”

Phasma turned to Rey, her eyes haunted and sad. "Kylo’s love and trust.  That was Bazine's doing. She was one of his closest friends.  Even if she were to be married to another, she could have given him her support, or even a simple wish for a speedy recovery following that attack. But she disappeared instead, with nary a word of concern nor the slightest bit of an effort to see how he fared. My brother is so guarded now, he’s closed out everyone with the exception of those with whom he is the closest. And he has not let an outsider into his heart ever since."

They stopped in front of the milliner’s shop.  The straw hats were being gussied up, covered completely in silks and taffetas for the fall and winter season, and dressed in flowers and ribbon.  When they were completed, even the underside was completely covered with a cap-like inner lining.   

Rey tried to imagine Kylo a a child, with all his passion and energy unfettered and unrestrained.  She had seen occasional glimpses of his light-heartedness, in those instances when he teased Hux or in the self-knowing curl of his lips as he grinned at his insufferable smugness.  His romantic attraction to the ideals of love, and the self-torment which he clung to in denying himself its joys, was mirrored in his defense of a tragic protagonist's extremes of ardor and suffering.

Rey saw the quiet intensity in the way that Kylo spoke, the animalistic grace of his movements, and the thrumming energy of his touch. She knew that such passion would not wither away easily.  It remained rooted inside of him despite the weeds of Bazine's betrayal, the barrenness of time and the poison of his hurt and growing cynicism.

She also knew that his heart and his trust remained hidden underneath his protective armor and feigned disregard.  Kylo would not have accepted her, a petty criminal and a stranger, into his home, placed amongst the company of those whom he loved without it.  He was not the kind of man who would have something as simple as a meaningless challenge force him into an action which was antithetical to his beliefs or his will.

Her eyes returned to the bonnets in the window.  A pair sat side by side, one left over from the summer, its straw form still visible, tastefully decorated with a rim of pink ribbon and lace, the brim stiff and sure.  It was gilded, but left no question as to it base.  The other was covered heavily in black velvet, swathed in lengths of ribbon which overwhelmed its proportions, every inch covered, until it was difficult to determine whether there was a straw form inside or something else supporting its shape and weight.

Rey had survived her family's death and a thieve's life with a combination of resourcefulness and tenacity. She survived her loneliness and uncertainty with optimism and hope.  She was determined to show Kylo that he could remove all those heavy layers of cloth and trim, do away with his false embellishments, and allow himself to be naked and bare with his trust and love in return.

 

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

　

Mr. Daniels had the responsibility of announcing callers that afternoon, and there were no errands to run, so Finn had a glorious amount of time to himself before tea was to be served in the Servant's Hall at four.  Despite the  generous allotment, he apparently walked at quite the brisk clip, because he arrived at the stables in half the time which it normally took.

Colonel Dameron’s jacket was thrown over the wooden post, as it had been for the last several days.  The dark brown of the woolen overcoat lay comfortably across the weathered lumber, its well-tailored lines appearing soft and inviting.

Poe Dameron, leader of the 5th dragoons and the 1st Cavalry Brigade in Salamanca under LeMarchant, was perhaps more comfortable in civilian clothing than he was in the classic red coats and Roman helmets of the British dragoons. It was not due to any discomfort with either being on the saddle or in the heart of battle, as he had shown himself to be exceptionally skilled in both. He demonstrated an uncommon discipline in his fighting which complemented his bravado, and he was adept with a sword, carbine, and pistol. But he understood the need for balance off the field as well, and the opportunity to train the Lipizzan in a bucolic setting grounded him in a way that few others could.

Finn watched from a safe distance as Poe worked with the horse.  The colt’s body was already showing signs of great strength and power, as Poe’s hands ran over the gray coat covering its muscular shoulders and hind quarters.  The Lipizzan had already accepted the saddle following Poe's arrival, and there was an intimate connection between animal and man which was not presents just several days ago.  Poe had explained that the horse should always perform in a controlled harmony with its rider, saddled yet while maintaining its natural motion and atheleticism.

Poe’s eyes caught Finn’s figure hovering tentatively in the distance, and a broad smile lit up his face, white, wide, and brighter than the flashing colors which filled the autumn sky.

“Finn!  Come on over!  I'm almost done cooling Barksby down.  I’ll be finished in just a minute.”

Finn edged closer to watch as Poe continued to walk the horse.  His linen shirt and vest clung to his toned torso, and his sleeves were rolled slightly to show off a set of tanned and muscular forearms.  His strong hands continued to gentle the horse as he removed the saddle, checking for any sores before washing and toweling off the beautiful gray coat.

Finn swallowed heavily, wondering for a second what that would have felt like, to feel hands so strong yet gentle and caring, against your own.

"Good afternoon, Sir Dameron."  Finn felt ridiculous.  He was the first footman, comfortable in introducing royalty, a symbol of the Marchess’ household, suddenly reduced to a shy and fumbling schoolboy.

Poe grinned.  “Looking forward to some conversation which involves more than an annoyed look and a snort from the receiving end.”

Finn looked down at his white stockings and dark shoes as he debated heading into the stable yard.  There was still a considerable distance between them, and the conversation was set at a higher volume, which was not aided by the occasional waver which threatened his voice.  There was a high chance that his shoes would be soiled by the dirt despite the dry weather, but he figured he could at least rub the spots out and take a rattan to them later if needed.

Poe saw the uncertainty which flickered on Finn’s face.  He waved him off.  “Stay.  I’ll come over to you.”

He finished brushing the dust and grease out of the horse’s coat and picked out the much and stones from the hooves before allowing Barksby to graze in the pasture.  Finn notices that some of the sweat which dampens Poe's curls has started to dry.  A quick breeze settled softly, promising a later chill.

Finn spied the brown tailcoat which is sat on top of the fence. Habit as well as a sudden, more personal desire to help Poe, causes him to pick it up as the older man approached.

Poe stretched out slightly, dusting himself off and unraveling his sleeves to cover his arms before taking his coat from Finn.

"Thank you."  Poe's fingers grazed Finn's underneath the woolen fabric, a brief, searing heat which left Finn’s heart racing and feeling a slight disappointment at the fleeting nature of the contact. Poe placed the coat in the crook of his arm as he buttoned his shirt fully, his strong fingers quickly working their way up the fabric coverings, until linen hid the tantalizing expanse of golden flesh.  He slid into the coat, one of the wide lapels remaining tucked underneath itself.

Finn quickly leaned over, removing the twisted fabric and flattening it back into its proper position against Poe’s chest.   There was a sudden intake of breath underneath where his fingers were splayed, as he felt the deepening rise and fall of movement, and all Finn can think about is that perhaps being a valet wouldn't be such a bad career choice after all.

The two men walked away from the stables, the long stone buildings and courtyard becoming smaller in the distance as they strolled along the wooded path.

"I believe that we will be able to start working on lungeing in the next several days." Poe hurriedly clarified in response to Finn's confused expression. "Lungeing helps the horse to respond to my verbal commands and the touch of my hands.  I'll also use it to help Barksby get a feel of the reins and the pressure of the bit. It's part of what's called the _Remontenschule_ stage of training.  In the end, his movements will be as free and natural as possible, all while accommodating me in the saddle."

"How many stages are there?"

"Three. The final is the _Haute Ecole_ , a perfection of a horse's natural talents and mental and physical abilities. It is a show of established discipline and understanding between rider and animal."

Poe chuckled, but the laugh was slightly bitter. "One of the movements of the Haute Ecole is the Capriole. It is ironic, how something could be seen as beautiful by the casual observer, derived from a deadly move meant to decapitate foot soldiers on the battlefield."

Finn was slightly taken aback by Poe's uncharacteristic sharpness.

"Is it very different? Riding a horse in a setting such as this compared to a battle?"

Poe hesitated. "The feel of a horse underneath you is something that is powerful and thrilling, no matter what the circumstances. But the setting..."

A faraway look crept into his eyes. "The night before the battle of Salamanca, there was a terrible thunderstorm which caused many of the horses to stampede. Men were trampled, and several of our horses broke loose and ran into French lines. On the day of battle, we attacked the French's infantry division in a heavy cavalry charge, but lost Le Marchant in the process. Although we ultimately annihilated the 65th Regiment and captured many prisoners, the fear and noise of battle is something that is not easily forgotten for man or beast."

"It must be difficult for your family as well as yourself."

Poe had a slightly wistful smile. "My parents are long gone, although they are always part of me, as they passed down to me their love of horses and skills in riding." He hesitated once again, looking quickly into Finn's trusting and unassuming gaze, before continuing.

"And there is no wife, nor will there likely ever be."

Finn wondered if this was because of Poe's dedication to the military, but something in Poe's gaze indicated it was something different. He felt a sudden sadness for the handsome colonel, who seemed so self-assured and who drew the attentions of many, but who was in some ways possibly as lonely as Finn.

Finn had not yet felt the pull of love in his young life, never having tried to steal a prolonged touch or give lingering glance to a woman. He remained dedicated to his job, steadily saving up his wages with the end of each day, and going to bed tired and with an aching emptiness in his heart.

And yet, with Poe, with a virtual stranger, he found himself opening up, entrusting him to feelings which he never voiced to another, and looking forward to another day which was not just defined by habitual repetition.

The position of the sun in the sky suggested that Finn had another twenty minutes before he had to be back at the main house. They reached a large oak, it's huge trunk and foliage flaming colorfully against the blue sky. The sun filtered through its branches and the remaining leaves, flickering shadows and light against their profiles.

Poe's eyes were gentle. There was also something else in them, something which darkened slightly as those eyes appreciated Finn's form, and as he placed a large, calloused hand against the cut of Finn's jacket.

The heat of his touch burned through the layers of fabric onto Finns skin. He felt his breath stop under Poe's dilated gaze. He had heard of men who enjoyed the company of other men, even seeking pleasure with them. Finn had never thought about it, although he had never desired to seek pleasure with a female as well. But Poe left him wanting something more, a desperation, and a quiet lust.

Poe moved closer. He saw Finn's desire amidst his confusion, how his breath quickened and the wetness of his lips, and the unconscious change in his stance as the footman pressed towards him ever so slightly. Poe has too much bravado, and has seen too much loss in his lifetime to waste on second guesses. He is fierce yet understanding, dominant yet gentle, a master of harnessing another's living creature's energy, taming it and making it part of his own.

He lifts his hand, cupping Finn's jaw as he slides his thumb gently against the softness of Finn's cheek.

Finn closed his eyes, wanting what Poe promises in his touch even as the words leave his lips.

"To be with another man..it is illegal." Indeed, there had been a brutal wave of prosecutions against such men in the last several years, with buggery labeled a crime punishable by death.

Poe pulled back slightly, forcing Finn to see him, to hear the conviction in his words.

"I love my country, Finn. I willingly give up my life for her. But I refuse to give up who I am, for England, or for anyone else."

The sun is still warm in the late afternoon, and the sky is clear and crisp, without a cloud. And for the first time, a clarity hits Finn, sweet and warm, as he gazes into Poe's eyes. He feels himself nodding, eagerly reaching for Poe as well, and he gives in to the softness of his lips, the smell of horse and grass and sweat, the sweetness of his mouth, and the feeling that he finally _belongs._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bazine's letter:
> 
> "À l'œuvre, on connaît l'artisan  
> Les habitudes ont la vie dure  
> À la prochaine"  
>   
> English translation:  
> "A workman is known by his chips  
> Old habits die hard  
> Until next time."


	10. Tableaux Vivants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seeing is not always believing at the annual Winter's Ball.
> 
> [excerpt]:  
>  _Don't be silly, you little prat_ , she admonished herself, _He's just playing a part._ Yet she couldn't help her response to his closeness: the prickling discomfort of her skin, the growing ache in her belly, or the embarrassing warmth which seeped between her thighs. She longed to lean into him, to press her hip against his cheek, and to card her fingers through the wayward strands of his hair as she drew his head near.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am floored by the gorgeous artwork created for this scene by [**billysmind**](http://billysmind.tumblr.com/). The link to the image is [**here**](http://billysmind.tumblr.com/image/153780748433).  
>  Thank you so much for gifting this story with this beautiful piece--it's _perfect_!!!

* * *

 

**_Better to understand a little than to misunderstand a lot_ **

-Philip Stanhope, 4th Earl of Chesterfield

 

Winter settled over Northern Maridunshire with an air frost which quickly blanketed the moorlands and the canopy of the Endor forest with its crystalline embrace.  The rushing waters of the Kamino River stilled as large collections of frazil ice coalesced into frozen sheets to the north and a whorling, slurry mix to the south. A light snowfall lent a sharpness to the air, its powdery whiteness reflecting the light from the full moon and casting a magical glow.  The normally hushed tones of the evening were broken by the clacking of horses’ hooves and the rumbling of carriage wheels, which provided a rhythmic background for the excited exhalations of the numerous well-heeled guests who made their way up the torch-lined path towards Caserta Hall.

The coveted invitations to the Marchess of Alderaan’s Winter’s Ball had been sent out one month prior to the twentieth of December, the elegant text imprinted from copper plates onto ivory vellum cards. A favorable reply would soon be followed by multiple shopping excursions into town, while Caserta's staff busied themselves with their own preparations for the highly anticipated event.

The chandeliers were dusted and cleaned, their crystal drops polished to allow the flames of a dozen of beeswax candles to reflect spectacularly off their prismed edges and onto the floors.  Well-placed girandoles, pier glass holders and mirrored sconces added to the brightness and the ambience of the rooms, ensuring a comfortable visibility for the guests lasting into the wee hours of the morning. 

The larders, pantries and ice houses were stocked with plenty of chicken, goose, venison and veal, as well as a treasure trove of collared eels, lobster and prawns.  Cured spices and herbs from the stillroom were combined under the skillful hands of the family’s French chefs to create rich and fragrant sauces for a mix of traditional fare and exotic cuisines.  Fresh egg and milk from Caserta’s dairy were mixed with ground almonds to create a white soup to be served with a sugary wine, or to be alternatively whipped into a blancmange or ornamental confectionary for a mouth-watering treat.  No less attention was spent on the number of liquid refreshments available that night: sweetened almond and orange orgeat, lemonade and tea for the dancers; white wine claret, sweet madeira, and a fruity ratafia for the diners; and an assortment of French wines, brandy and port for the gentlemen, who could easily consume several bottles of the stronger spirits individually whilst involved in a rousing game of cards.

The Great Hall, with its large space, picturesque windows and majestic walls, had undergone perhaps the greatest transformation.  The sofas, tables and chairs were moved and placed alongside the perimeter to provide both ample seating and enough space for the musicians and dancers.  Carefully chosen flowers and plantings added perfume and well-placed spots of color alongside the golden lustres on the mantles and the tripods in the corners.  And for the past week, the finest artists had worked diligently to transfigure the gleaming wood floor into a masterful work of fleeting beauty.

Rey had stared at the finished chalk drawing with Phasma at her side.  Her eyes followed its fluid lines, the graceful arabesqued patterns morphing into mythological motifs, all against the waxed and burnished background of the oak below.

“It’s breathtaking,” she whispered in awe

“Isn’t it, though?” Phasma concurred.  “I think that the drawings become more incredible with each and every year.”

Rey looked down, feeling slightly wistful at the evanescent beauty of the work.  Phasma had explained that the chalked drawing was commissioned to provide friction for a dancer’s shoes, the smooth, leather surfaces of which would prove to be otherwise unfailingly slippery against the polished, wooden surface.  Despite appreciating being spared the indignity of accidentally sliding into her partner--or even worse, down onto the floor--it saddened Rey to think that such painstaking artistry would disappear over the course of a night.

Phasma walked around the perimeter of the drawing, careful to avoid its margins.

“It has always been a tradition for Kylo and me to add our signatures to the piece.  When we were very young, the artists would incorporate our exact likeness into the drawings.  As we grew older, things turned more symbolic.  It has turned into somewhat of a game, to choose something representative of ourselves, and for the other to guess what was done.”

Rey peered eagerly, viewing the work in an entirely new light.  Depicted were a large number of gods and goddesses, mermaids and nymphs, and ocean and woodland creatures.  In the lower left corner roiled a raging sea, and in the upper right corner lay the moon and the stars.

A figure near the center caught her eye, tall and imposing against a background of trees.  The goddess carried a bow in her hand and a quiver of arrows on her back, her long legs framed in a simply draped chiton.

“Artemis,” Rey pointed to the figure.  She had no doubt that this was Phasma’s contribution.

Phasma laughed ruefully.  “Yes.  Unfortunately obvious.  Kylo guessed it as quickly as you.”

Rey scanned the piece once more, her mind clicking rapidly as she assessed each figure.  She spied Athena, carrying an aegis bearing the Organa-Solo coat of arms.  The artist had captured a kindness and intelligence in her eyes as well as her regal bearing, and Rey could easily imagine the Marchioness' influence on the artist's portrayal.

She glanced at the other male figures, taking into account their physical depictions as well as their storied strengths and foibles.  She quickly discounted Zeus and Poseidon and Hades, and hesitated upon seeing Apollo before passing over him as well.  The brotherly, familial link to Artemis was probably too blatant and simplistic of a reason for Kylo to choose.  A mischievous figure carrying a kerykeion and wearing a traveler's cloak also briefly stole her attention.  Hermes more closely embodied the qualities of the witty, cunning and well-traveled Marchess, rather than those of his son.

Rey's steps slowed as she neared Dionysus.  He was depicted with a cup in his hand, his half-naked form surrounded by a retinue of inebriated revelers dancing wantonly.

Rey held back a snort, as images of Kylo's debauched behavior from their shared night in town entered her mind.

Phasma glanced in the direction of Rey’s gaze and laughed.  “If you’re thinking it’s Dionysus, don't.  I can tell you that he was my guess as well, for which my brother was extremely insulted!"

Rey shook her head as if to let Phasma know that she had not yet come to a conclusion.  Her vision began to blur as the decorative curves and immortal figures grew hazy and obscure.

Her breath caught suddenly when she finally spotted him.  Part of Dionysus' thiasus, a figure sat with his back against a triad of nymphs as he stared out into the sky.  A longing expression was captured on his face, his pipes forgotten by his side.  A pelt of fleece lay next to his horned hooves as he looked out towards the stars and into the moon, the faint lines of Selene’s chariot visible at the heavenly body’s edge.

Rey's heart broke.

“Kylo is Pan.”

Phasma’s eyes widened as she nodded slowly, staring at Rey.  “Yes.  How ever did you guess?”

Phasma's question went unanswered as Rey continued to stare at the figure which sat distanced from the more powerful gods.  Pan, the son of Hermes, his horned head and cloven legs consigning him to forever straddle the planes between disorder and harmony, the primal and the cultivated, and the emotional and the rational.  A god who, despite his sexual prowess with the nymphs and maenads, could not win the goddess of the moon's affections in his true form, resorting in the end to covering up his hairy goatishness under the pretense of a stolen fleece.

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

Rey had never felt so poked and prodded at in her life.  She had suffered through several soakings in a hot tub, followed by a thorough dousing of cold water for the supposed purpose of smoothing and polishing her skin. Her lotioned and powdered body was then placed in a corset and laced, her breasts lifted and separated by its gussets and subsequently framed in the squared bodice of her empire-waisted gown.

The dress itself was gloriously beautiful: a sheer, silken overdress draped over winter white satin and embroidered with tiny rosettes along the edges of her hem and the band of her puffed sleeves.  The skirt was flared and gathered into a pouf in the back, its length grazing the heel of her white satin slippers laced with ribbon.  Jessika had decided against a necklace, leaving the graceful curve of Rey's neck bared, choosing wired earrings whose drop accentuated her delicate features instead.  A simple diadem with pearls lay nestled in her upswept hair, framed by fine wisps and ringlets.

Rey took deep breath, trying to calm her jangled nerves.  She had asked Jessika for a moment of privacy, overwhelmed with the thought of her first real test since becoming Kylo's ward.  Tonight, she was expected to be model of grace and style in front of some fifty-odd members of the gentry and nobility, in a manner befitting a member of the Organa-Solo household.

She looked at the long kid gloves and the silk leafed fan which lay nearby. A knock on the door reminded her that her presence was expected downstairs.

"Come in," she called as the door opened, the twanging of bowed strings and the bright melody of a flute increasing in the background.

She gathered her gloves, preparing to hand them to Jessika.  Her next words died in her throat as Kylo came through the door.

He looked gorgeous, tall and commanding in a single-breasted black tailcoat which was cut to perfection, broad in the shoulders and nipped in the waist.  It lay high against the back of his neck, the material flattening smoothly around his chest and his back in a manner which allowed him the freedom of movement while still showing his form to the greatest advantage.  The collar of his white shirt extended up to the line of his jaw, his neck encircled by a silken cravat knotted precisely in the mailcoach style, anchored by a pin.  The ends of the shirt were tucked into high-waisted trousers, their close fit showcasing the muscular lengths of his legs and the masculine flare of his hips.

Rey forced her eyes upwards from where they had been resting on his backside, feeling more flustered than she had a second ago.

“I apologize, My Lord.  I thought you were Jessika, coming to assist me with my gloves.”

Kylo smiled gently at Rey, his topaz eyes darkening subtly as he took in her form. 

“You look breathtaking, Rey,” he stated, simply and honestly.  She flushed underneath his gaze, the flowing material of her gown highlighting her soft curves, its diaphanous material pale against the growing blush of her skin.

Kylo watched as Rey fidgeted, her fingers fumbling over the long lengths of the glove.  He reached out, stilling her movement.  He took the glove from her hand and deftly rolled down its cuff.  His strong hands slid the soft leather over each finger, tugging gently as each one became encased in the glove's gentle grip, before pulling the rest of its length over the turn of her wrist, along the swell of her forearm, and across the crook of her elbow.  He ran his own gloved hand over her now-covered length, slowly stroking the fabric several times until it lay smooth and flat against her skin.

Rey resisted the urge to lean forward as Kylo repeated his movements on her other hand.  She inhaled slowly, breathing in his soap and cologne, notes of spice and woodsmoke over an earthy pine, like the woods after a rain.  She closed her eyes as she let the headiness of his scent wash over her, the heat from his hand palpable even through the layers of leather.

She felt him pull back slightly as her eyes flew open.  His gaze was shuttered as he fought the urge to bring his hand against her chin, tilting it up and running his thumb against the fullness and softness of her lower lip.  Instead, he lowered his arm, his black locks falling over his face despite his earlier attempts to tame them behind his ears.

“Are you nervous?” Kylo stared at Rey's tongue, its pink tip darting out unconsciously to moisten the sudden dryness of her lips.

Rey nodded.  Her corset suddenly felt uncomfortably tight as she struggled to breathe.

“A little,” she admitted.  The prospect of pasting muster with a large number of strangers, and more importantly, of not disappointing Kylo, was a bit daunting.

The anxiety and nausea must have shown on her face.  Kylo frowned.

"Did you have supper?"

"Probably not as much as I should."

“We will not sit down for dinner until midnight.  If you are hungry, I can have something brought up to you.  Perhaps some biscuits, or rout cakes and tea?”

“No, thank you.”  Rey allowed herself a small sigh.  “I am a tangle of nerves, trying to remember what to do, and what to say.”

She laughed, wincing slightly as she amended her statement.

“Or, perhaps more appropriately, what _not_ to say.”

Kylo’s mouth drew up into a mischievous grin as he remembered her propensity for a good tongue lashing.

“That’s easy.  You must be able to speak intelligently, but not overly so.  You must listen well and show interest in your partner's conversation, all the time refraining from being too direct, or questioning too much into the details of their person or their dress.  And under no circumstances are there to be any references to any scandalous gossip or, heaven forbid, bodily functions."

He gave a mock bow as he drawled.  "In other words, be polite and a model of utter insipidness.”

Rey grinned.  “I think I've got it.  So to paraphrase, I am to avoid vagaries and tittle-tattle while playing a frigot well-rigged?”

Kylo's eyebrow lifted at her coarse speech.

“You never mentioned anything about improper language,” she added, teasing him gently.

He laughed, a warm, deep sound which softened his features, making him look younger.

“Miss Kenobi, you are quicker than the whole lot of them will ever be."

He stood, offering her his hand as he led her out the door towards the awaiting guests.

“It should be a fun evening.  The guests are mostly friends of the family, and Phasma, Hux and I will be around should you need an escape.  Use what you have learned in the last several months, and you shall have everyone eating out of the palm of your hand.”

 

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

 

The music was lively and the energy in the Great Hall so infectious that Rey found her anxiety quickly dissipating as she was swept up in the excitement of the dance.

She laughed as she made her way down the line, quickly finding herself paired with one partner after another. Her cheeks flushed and her heart pounded as Leia initially led the guests through a simple moulinet and the changes, the figures growing more elaborate as the evening progressed.  Rey was delighted to discover that she managed the intricate steps quite well, and was enjoying her current partner's humor and grace as they performed a lively Scottish reel.

Lord Hux's green eyes flashed with delight, the copper highlights of his hair glinting under the candlelight and against the dark navy blue of his coat.  They adjusted their repetitions and the figure sequences as they took their turn as top couple, flowing together with a beautiful energy which was barely controlled against the quickening tempo and stamping feet.

"Both you and Master Forel should be very proud," Hux smiled in appreciation as the dance ended much too quickly.

“Thank you, My Lord. I am delighted to hear that all your toes have survived unscathed,” Rey grinned, remembering the amusement Hux had derived from her earlier efforts with the dance master. They both turned towards their right, preparing to switch partners once more.

Her breath hitched as strong fingers grasped her own and a deep voice wrapped silkily around her ears.

"Have you been successful in avoiding the caw-handed bully fops thus far, Miss Kenobi?”

Rey stared at Kylo, his full lips turned up into a teasing smile.

"Likely with more success than you have had in avoiding the mot Cambridge fortunes," she managed.  She attempted a saucy grin, tamping down the strange twist of jealousy which surged through her as she recalled all the appreciative glances he had drawn that evening.

Kylo's response was cut short, his handsome face darkening dangerously as he looked up at the latest guest to enter the Great Hall.

A small murmur rippled through the crowd.  Several of the women quickly bent their heads together, their moving lips half-hidden behind the folds of their fans, while the men craned their neck towards the door.

The Duchess of Silesia swept through the room, confident in her dark and exotic beauty.  Unlike most of the women, she was not dressed in a fashionable and pristine white, opting instead for a sheer overdress which overlay a plum satin gown.  The soft draping accentuated her curvaceous figure while the deep color played off the paleness of her skin and the jet black of her hair. She entered with an air of self-awareness and confidence, seemingly immune to the growing whispers as well as the looks of unconcealed longing which were being thrown her way.

She remained singularly focused, her eyes intent on the attentions of just one.

“Your Grace.” Kylo's expression was unreadable as Bazine approached.  His grip tightened unmercifully on Rey's hand.

“Lord Ren.” Bazine took a deep breath, the action drawing his eyes unwillingly to her perfectly rounded breasts.  She peered at him from underneath her lashes, a coquettish smile on her lips.

“We have just changed partners, Bazine. I believe that Miss Kenobi owes me the pleasure of at least one dance.”

Two spots of color formed on Rey's cheek as she felt the condescension in Bazine's glittering eyes. She looked down quickly, finding a sudden fascination with the blurry, chalked images under her feet.

Bazine turned towards the young lady currently partnered with Hux. The young blonde’s naivete was no match for the older woman’s scrutiny as she stammered an excuse, allowing Bazine to fill the now vacated spot next to Rey.

Hux leaned in to take Bazine’s hand.  “Subtlety was never your strong suit, Your Grace,” he whispered, taking a wicked pleasure in her embarrassment as she stiffened upon hearing his words.

Bazine quickly schooled her features, appraising Hux coolly.  Her hand slowly tightened on his, her nails digging sharply into his palm.

"Oh, but how wrong you are, my Lord." She smiled at him neatly, flashing the whiteness of her teeth.  "I am well familiar with subtlety and discretion.  I just know when to use them."

Their stilted animosity grew as the music turned silent, breaking only when Leia approached the center of the Hall to address the guests.

“I cannot tell you all how much your presence means to us tonight.  This has been an important and, at times, a very difficult year.  Bravery and honor continues to be fought on many fronts, whether on the battlefield, or in our legislature, or in our homes.  We are deeply grateful to have friends such as yourselves, who share such deep passion and conviction.  We are even more grateful to have this chance to celebrate each other's company, and look forward to what the next year has to bring."

A chorus of cheers and heartfelt approval met her words.

"As many of you are well aware, it has been our long-standing tradition to play a game before dinner.  To make new friends, and to celebrate the old."

“ _Le Baiser a la Capucine_!” a voice shouted from the back amidst a chorus of laughter.

Leia attempted to affix a stern look on her face but failed in response to the gentleman's unabashed eagerness.

“The French Kissing Game, Lord Wexley?  Although our game is not of such an-- _ahem_ \-- intimate nature, I hope that you will find this one nearly as enjoyable.”

She pulled out a basket filled with cards.

“ _Tableaux Vivants_.  You and your partner will choose a scene to re-enact for the rest of the audience.  The theme may be plucked from a work of literature, a piece of music, or a work of art.  It is your responsibility to recreate this theme without the assistance of movement or sound.”

Lord Wexley received an amused gaze from the Marchioness as well as a tacit invitation to approach.  He grinned as he reached into the basket and pulled out a card.  His blue eyes scanned the card's content as he showed the wording to the pretty woman at his side.

"Either my luck has dried out or tonight's selections are entirely too chaste," the young man proclaimed in mock disappointment, his tongue loosened as he was already fairly deep into his cups.  "Although I must admit that having the lovely Lady Devon as my partner is excitement enough."

Lord Wexley proceeded to shed his tailcoat and waistcoat before placing himself on the floor.  He arched his back, stretched out an arm, and extended his neck as if to prevent his handsome head from sinking into the floor and the waves which were drawn against its surface.  Lady Devon positioned herself several feet away, kneeling down and reaching out towards him, just beyond his grasp.

Rey noted that the young woman was flushing prettily as Lord Wexley's eyes roved over her bosom as they held their positions.

"' _The Miraculous Draught of Fishes_!"

"Icarus and Daedulus!"

"' _Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss!'"_ Rey heard Ren audibly snort upon hearing Lady Covington's response, as Lady Devon's flush grew deeper and Lord Wexley rolled his eyes, unable to stop himself from breaking form and replying.

"I said it was _chaste_. Although i wouldn't mind re-enacting that one, either, if you would prefer," he smirked to the sound of some laughter and a few disapproving murmurs.

"Wexley is obviously our former Lord Mayor of London, and the tableaux is ' _Watson and the Shark_ ,'" Hux drawled. "Bit of brilliance placing yourself on those chalky waters, Wexley. Although I must admit, I was sorely tempted to let you continue on just a bit longer.  It was only out of concern for Lady Devon that I answered, to spare her from another second in your questionable company."

The younger man grimaced as he stood, shaking out his right arm in an attempt to regain its feeling.

Lady Devon laughed.  "Ahh, Lord Hux. I believe we may repay you the favor then, as it is the Duchess' and your turn?"

Hux nodded as Bazine drew the next card. He leaned over carefully as he read the selected scene.

"What an appropriate choice, Your Grace," Hux gritted underneath his breath. "Machinations and treachery, leading to disgrace and scandal in the end."

Bazine's eyes flashed in anger despite the polite smile which remained plastered on her lips.

"Ah, but you forget, Lord Hux.  It is Cleopatra's charms, and not her machinations, which draw Antony to her side.  _'Other women cloy. The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry. Where most she satisfies_.'"

She moved closer, her voice simultaneously seductive and threatening.  "Remember, my Lord. How willingly Antony would give up his political future, his country-- _his friends_ \--for her."

Hux couldn't keep the anger from his voice.  "You are as childish and self-absorbed as she. What game is this that you play? Stay away from Ren, have you not done enough damage that you wish to drag him down even further?"

"You are not Kylo's nursemaid, Lord Hux," Bazine bit back angrily.

"And you, my dear, are the consummate actress. _'I' th' posture of a whore.'"_

Bazine clenched her fists to her side as she resisted the urge to slap the smug look from his face. In her mind, such an action was well-deserved, but she had no desire to inflame further gossip in front of a hundred eager and prying eyes.

They glared at each other as they assembled themselves into the tableaux. Hux laid on the ground, clutching his side, his hands positioned as if grasping the hilt of a sword. Bazine placed a hand near his head as she held the other to her bosom, clasping a loose ribbon to her heart.

She lowered herself slightly.  To the observers, her position spoke of the anguish of a woman mourning the tragic death of her true love.

To Hux, she embodied the threatening menace of a cat who had just unsheathed her claws, ready to sink them into her prey.

"I rather like you like this, Lord Hux," she whispered viciously, her lips barely moving and only for him to see. "Wounded, and dying at my feet."

Hux closed his eyes, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a response as the guesses flowed. Minutes ticked by seemingly into hours, until Kylo's deep voice spared him further misery.

" _Antony and Cleopatra._ "

Hux stood quickly, his face hiding his disgust as he flourished the audience with a bow. Bazine smiled brightly at Kylo, brushing against him gently as he made his way through the crowd to the front of the room.

Phasma held out the basket as Kylo pulled out the next card by its smooth edges. He looked down at the printed words, his movements stilling before he loosened his hold, quickly attempting to reach for another.

Phasma hastily pulled the basket away.

"Tsk, tsk, brother. Are you trying to advantage yourself? You know that it is against the rules."

Kylo cleared his throat and held up his hands as he acquiesced.  He walked back to Rey, silently handing her the card as she mouthed the written words.

" _Pygmalion and Galatea_?"

Pygmalion had always been one of her favorite stories.  The mythological King of Cyprus, who, having witnessed the shameless behavior of the Propoetides, determined never to marry, falling in love instead with the maiden whom he had exquisitely sculpted out of a block of ivory.  A successful portrayal would require Kylo to convey a longing and passion so great as to sway the compassions of Aphrodite into fulfilling Pygmalion's deepest desire, to gift Galatea with life.

Kylo whispered into Rey's ear, her face flaming at his suggestion.  He led her out to the center of the room, placing her feet next to the drawing of Aphrodite. Rey angled her body slightly, hearing the hushed whispers as Kylo brought her into the intimate position of the slow waltz which they had once shared.  Her hip brushed against his trousers as he held her outstretched arm, the heat from their bodies burning into that single point of contact.  She rested her other hand on his shoulder, her fingers splayed over the fine cloth of his jacket as his muscles tensed underneath.  She fought to keep her eyes from wavering as he held her gaze, his head bent so closely next to hers.

What had been an intimate pose when performed in front of an audience of two now felt downright scandalous in front of a crowd.  Rey smelled Kylo's spiciness mixed with the heat and musk from his dancing and the faint whiff of brandy.  His masculinity rolled over her in furious waves, forceful and unrelenting. He lowered his tall frame further, and she struggled to keep herself upright as he brought himself down on one knee, his fingertips grazing over the skin of her outstretched arm as his other hand reached around her waist.

 

 

 

 _'Since the first hour I saw you, how impossible have I found it to leave you,'_ he breathed. Kylo held his position, his amber and molten eyes filled with a look of such feral desire that she nearly swooned.

 _Don't be silly, you little prat_ , she admonished herself, _He's just playing a part._ Yet she couldn't help her response to his closeness: the prickling discomfort of her skin, the growing ache in her belly, or the embarrassing warmth which seeped between her thighs. She longed to lean into him, to press her hip against his cheek, and to card her fingers through the wayward strands of his hair as she drew his head near.

She was suffocating under the warmth of a hundred candles, overly sensitive to the weight of her clothes, and breathless from the thickness of the air.  There was a roaring and pounding in her ears, so deafening that she did not even notice that the room had become silent, its participants holding their breaths in shocked silence, voyeurs to the intimacy of an erotic and illicit embrace.

In her self-consciousness, Rey did not notice Phasma's widened eyes, Hux's knowing grin, or Bazine's furious gaze.  Her discomfiture lasted for what felt like an eternity, the spell only broken by a loud round of applause as she heard someone cough.

"Now _that_  was decidedly unchaste," Lord Wexley grinned. 

Kylo stood and turned towards Rey, his lips open with unspoken words before he pressed them into a thin line. Bazine moved quickly, effectively insinuating her body between the two, as she drew Kylo away.

 

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

 

By two hours past midnight, the guests had feasted on two full courses of mouthwatering and savory dishes.  Glazed and steamed vegetables fresh from the hothouses were interspersed with all manners of fish, venison and fowl.  The adventurous partook in the delicacies of cockscombs, testicles and tongue, chasing it down with a white wine claret or sweet madeira.  By the third hour, the deserts and orgeat combined for a full belly, and Rey felt the exhaustion seep in as the excitement and activity of the night took its toll.

She found Phasma, bidding her goodnight as the strains of Handel and Mozart played softly in the background.

Phasma wouldn't hear of it.

"You can't go just yet!  Help me round up some of the guests, we are about to play Snap-Dragon!"

Rey winced, shifting slightly to take the pressure off her aching feet.  "Snap-Dragon?"

"Oh, it's quite spectacular! We fill a bowl with warm brandy and Malaga raisins and set it afire.  Each year, there are always one or two men who are either sufficiently inebriated or completely lacking in judgment who attempt to eat the raisins at the risk of being burnt.  But the real challenge is to see who can snatch the greatest amount of raisins from underneath the flames."

Phasma leaned in, smiling.  "It is said that the winner is destined to find true love in the upcoming year."

Rey's curiosity got the better of her as she joined Phasma in collecting any brave and willing souls who wished to try their hand at the game.   She turned the corner upon hearing muffled voices from the library, stopping suddenly as she reached the entrance.

Kylo's back was turned towards the door as he argued with Bazine.  There was something intimate and breathless in her appearance as she pleaded with him in earnest.   Rey knew she was intruding, yet she could not bring herself to walk away.

She hid behind the door and leaned in, pressing her ear against the wall.

"Kylo, darling.  Being back at Caserta, in this very room--surely you can understand the memories it has stirred up for me."  There was a long pause.  "As I am sure it must for you."

Rey heard the emotions in Kylo's voice--a strangled anger, and a lingering sadness.

"They are memories I have spent many years trying to forget, Bazine."

Rey longed to take Kylo into her arms and soothe his heartbreak.  She took a step forward, unable to stop herself as she stood exposed, watching Kylo, his head held high and posture rigid, his hands trembling at his sides.  She lifted her hand, her words caught in her throat.

She missed the sudden gleam in Bazine's eyes as the other woman caught Rey's wide-eyed stare.

Bazine slowly stretched towards Kylo, raising herself onto the balls of her feet and placing her hand possessively over his heart.

"How can you forget?" Bazine asked, her voice carrying out into the hallway, the words crystal clear.  "Everything that we have done?  All that we have shared?"

 She held Kylo's gaze as she drew a finger along the fullness of his lower lip, wetting it with the moisture from his tongue.

"The memory of our first kiss?"  Bazine's eyes glittering triumphantly before shuttering closed, the pressure from her finger quickly replaced by the greedy softness of her mouth as she gave into the feeling of Kylo's lips against her own.

Rey backed away at the intimate display, hitting her side against the wall as she cursed her overactive imagination.  She had mistaken Kylo's kindness for something more.  She couldn't compete with Bazine's experience, her sensuality, or the history which they shared.  She fought against the growing lump in her throat, stumbling towards the Great Hall as Kylo forcefully held Bazine's arms, pulling her away.

He spat out his next words furiously.

"What do you think you're doing, Bazine?  I thought I made my intentions very clear."

Bazine looked appropriately chastened, giving him an apologetic shrug.  She noticed that Rey had gone, and chose her next words carefully.

"You did, my Lord.  Please, forgive me.  Being here has brought back too many memories, including feelings of safety and happiness which I have not experienced in a long time."  She hesitated before returning her hand to the buttons of his waistcoat, letting them linger.

"You are so handsome, my Lord.  I find myself quite breathless in your presence, and overstepped my bounds."

Kylo ran his hand through his hair in exasperation.

"Do not push me further than what I am ready for, Bazine.  Do not mistake my considerations for our former friendship as entry into something more meaningful.  I have no need for yet another casual lover in my life, nor do I seek anything of permanence, with you, or anyone else."

Phasma burst through the door, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes as she saw Bazine.  "Kylo, please hurry.  They won't start Snap-dragon without you."

She led him to the Great Hall where a large crowd had gathered.  The room was darkened, the flames for the candles low as they burned down towards their last inches.  A large, shallow bowl sat on a table, filled with a copious amount of raisins and an infusion of warmed brandy.

Rey watched from the back of the crowd as Kylo lit the liquid on fire, the blue flames licking up the sides of the bowl, casting an eerie and unnatural hue.  One by one, the men braved the heat as they sought the dried fruit, the flames licking along their flesh as it played across the liquor.  Sir Wexley captured four, Colonel Dameron seven, and Lord Hux eight, while the majority grasped only one or two. 

Kylo approached the bowl, searching for Rey.  He spotted her in the back, watching the other participants with fascination until it was his turn.  He frowned as she quickly looked down with a visible look of disappointment in her face, refusing to spare him a glance even as the rest of the guests waited expectantly.

It was as if she couldn't _bear_ the thought of watching him.

Kylo's confusion turned into anger as he plunged his hand into the bowl, keeping it in there longer than necessary, oblivious to the heat lapping up against his skin until the pain caused him to clutch furiously at the slippery pieces of fruit, ensnaring them in his grasp.

He felt the heat of the raisins in his hand, their ridges bloated and softened, pinpricks of pain against the flesh of his palm.  A different kind of heat suffused him as he recalled his actions from earlier that evening.  He couldn't erase the image of how she looked when he saw her dressed for the first time, how he longed to do away with those ridiculous gloves and to envelop each of her fingers with the warmth of his mouth and his tongue in their place.  He was going mad all evening with the heat of her touch, the smell of her perfume, the sound of her laughter, and the quickness of her wit.  He was reduced to a panting schoolboy, down on his knees, trembling at the thought of turning his head and burying himself in her warmth, breathing her in against the fabric of her skirts until they lay damp against her skin. 

Even now, standing in front of all these guests with his hand painfully hot, he could only think of her, how he wanted nothing more than take her into his arms, to taste the sweetness of her mouth, to plunder her with his tongue, and to roll his hips against her body as he sought friction for his cock and assuaged his aching need.

He felt like a fool, lusting after a woman who did not return his affections, while Bazine lay so willingly within his grasp.

Bazine nudged him gently, urging him to open his hand.  His opened his fingers slowly as the guests roared.

Ten raisins.  _The promise of true love in the upcoming year_.

Kylo's gut clenched, and a heaviness filled his heart at the mockery of the prophecy as he watched Rey turn and walk out the door.  For a second, he felt ridiculously thankful to have Bazine by his side, her cloying attentions a balm to his bruised ego as the raisins slipped slowly out of his grasp and onto the floor.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have taken significant liberties with the timeline with respect to Kylo and Rey's portrayal of Pygmalion and Galatea. Although it is not explicitly stated, their positioning is based on Jean-Léon Gérôme's (1824–1904) paintings and sculpture of the same name


	11. 'Tis The Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Organa-Solos have relocated back to London for the start of The Season. Kylo finds himself having difficulty adjusting to all the attention which Rey receives.
> 
> [excerpt]:  
> He told himself that he acted to shelter her from Tyran's lascivious advances, but part of him knew that he needed to drive out her thoughts of any other, to forever mark her so that she could never waltz with any other partner but him alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a friendly reminder to pay attention to the fic rating and tags ;)

* * *

 

**_I vowed at that moment, that a maiden whom I loved, or for whom I felt the slightest attachment, never, never should waltz with any one else but with me_ **

-Goethe, The Sorrows of Young Werther

　

The new year ushered in the new parliamentary session, and the Organa-Solos found themselves trading in the comforts of country life for February in London, along with many of society’s elite.  The advent of The Season also heralded six busy months of socializing and politicking, and for those of marriageable age, days filled with gala concerts and court balls in the hopes of finding a suitable match.

Kylo settled himself into a rented a room at the high end Grenier's Hotel.  Located on Jermyn Street near the St. James' palace, the fashionable address was _the_ place in London for a nobleman to purchase a bespoke suit and all of the necessary accoutrements.  The hotel was also conveniently located near the most exclusive gentlemen’s clubs, where like-minded males could indulge in top quality food, gambling, gossip and oftentimes decadent behaviors.

The young Earl's more seeming conduct over the last several months had convinced the Marchess and Marchioness to loosen the reins on his freedom.  His new lodgings also placed him in close proximity to Lord Hux, who resided like so many of his fellow officers at the Steven's Hotel.  But the truth was that Kylo's elegantly furnished lodgings would allow him not only the privacy and opportunity for mixed company in a manner befitting a man of his age and status, but more importantly, the ability to distance himself from his young and beautiful ward.

He did his best to forget her. Despite his parents' populist leanings, Kylo was able to secure a membership to both the exclusive White's and Brook's clubs, and he was often found in one of the Palladian-styled buildings on St. James Street with Hux in tow, partaking in drink, sport, or a game of hazard and faro.  He also paid his former mistresses the occasional call, but his newfound discretion was not the only thing which had changed.  Even as his exploits became more private, the frequency of his dalliances diminished, as he found himself less and less inclined to indulge in such pleasures as his dissatisfaction with their outcome grew.

 

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

 

Kylo sighed as he leaned against the folds of Madame de Montespan's skirt, the silk fabric laying cool against his cheek. He closed his eyes, nearly purring with pleasure as her delicate fingers worked their way through the lengths of his hair.

" _Tu n'es pas heureux_ , my Lord," Isabelle observed.

The two had spent many evenings together like this in the past week: fully dressed, debating the latest artistic offerings or indulging in the most recent political gossip. But Isabelle had noted a distinct change in Kylo's demeanor, the passion and sharpness which had suffused his opinions and lovemaking in the past now replaced by resignation and sadness.

"What happened since I saw you last, my Lord? Is your family not well?"

Kylo's eyes remained closed as he concentrated on the strong, capable fingers which were now gently massaging his temples.  One of the reasons he enjoyed Isabelle’s company so greatly was because of her perspicacity and wit, although he now felt as if this would be one of those times where he would end up cursing those skills of observation.

"Thankfully, they are all healthy and safe."

"Ahhh,” she nodded sagely. “Then perhaps it is a woman? _Une affaire de cœur_?"

Kylo tilted his head, looking up at her face. Isabelle was watching him closely, her eyes filled with understanding.

He couldn’t keep the self-pity from his voice.

"She does not love me back."

Isabelle frowned, looking at Kylo thoughtfully. "Then she is either in love with someone else, or a fool."

"Unfortunately, she is neither,"  Kylo responded, turning away from her penetrating gaze.

"And you have told her of your feelings?"

Kylo sighed.  "It is a complicated situation, Isabelle. She is young and innocent. To make matters worse, she is also my ward, entrusted to my care."

Isabelle's voice softened. "So there must be some feelings, no? I cannot comment on the passion, but if this young woman is under your safekeeping, and if you are the man that I know you to be, then I believe she must already care for you in some way."

"I cannot pursue it, Isabelle. I already have too many—inappropriate thoughts in her presence." A shadow crossed his face as it twisted in anguish. "Not only does she not reciprocate my attachments, but she is now of age, and here in London to be presented for The Season."

Isabelle remained silent, her fingers resting on top his clenched fist as if to absorb his pain.

"I cannot ruin her chances to make a proper match.  She has had a difficult life, and despite it all, has emerged stronger and more unsullied than most.  She finally has the opportunity to show the rest of London everything she has to offer, and to make a good life for herself.  She will not want for an appropriate suitor.”

Isabelle spoke gently, her words echoing those which Hux has asked him all those months ago.

“And you do not think that you could qualify?  As an appropriate suitor?”

Kylo’s next words were filled with bitterness.

“I do not know if I am capable of giving her the love that she deserves.  Who would I be if I were to throw her opportunity away?  For a man of questionable repute, who is physically and emotionally damaged? It would be better for me to stay away--for her sake, as well as my own."

Isabelle pulled Kylo close, her heart aching as he folded into her arms. She knew all too well of the feelings of unrequited love, of self-doubt and the consequences of what society viewed as a disreputable past.

" _L’amour vainc tout, mon cher_ ," she whispered into his ear, willing them both to believe.

 

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

 

"If you ask me, they are nothing but lowly criminals, destroying factory equipment and the property of others. Hanging was too good for the lot of them."

Rey's pulled her lips into a thin smile as she watched Lord Grievous, the Earl of Kalee, launch into another diatribe regarding the Luddite activities in northwestern England. She most certainly had not asked him his opinion regarding the Luddite response to the atrocious working conditions which they suffered given the state of the current wartime economy, nor did he seem interested in hers.  Instead, he prattled on, as if entranced by the sound of his own logic.

Rey bit her tongue and tried to keep her mind entertained with other things, such as how Lord Grievous' corset must be working overtime to keep his expanded waistline from bursting with all his hot air, or whether his obvious calf padding would end up around his ankles by the end of their dance.

She sighed inwardly as she concentrated on her steps.  The last several weeks in London had been a stark contrast to the relative beauty and informality of Caserta. Rey missed the open landscape of the countryside and the glorious summer afternoons which were often spent reading, riding and sparring.  She missed her lessons with Master Luke, who had constantly pushed her curiosity and challenged her thinking.  She even missed Master Forel, who in the end had done a poor job in hiding his affection and pride at her increasingly graceful figures.  But perhaps the thing that she missed the most were her daily encounters with Kylo; she longed for the silkiness of his voice, the wry arch of his brow, the wickedness of his banter, and her body’s prickly and breathless response to his nearness.

In London, all of Rey's activities had become focused on meeting an appropriate gentleman of 'impeccable breeding and behavior.' The first month was spent on preparations for her presentation in Court.  She had suffered through numerous dress fittings, encumbered by the heavy and elaborate brocades of her gown as it was fashioned traditionally over her hoops.  She had spent weeks on her deportment, learning to execute the perfect walk, full-court curtsy, and proper exit without tripping over her trains or worse, performing the unforgivable insult of an inappropriately turned back.

She had found herself a willing sponsor in the Countess de Lieven, a family acquaintance and the wife of the Russian ambassador to England.  The Countess was a prominent political hostess with an influence nearing that of her husband's, with a reputation for a certain haughtiness and a sharp tongue to match.  She was also extremely intelligent woman who had found a kindred spirit in Rey.  And since the Countess was also one of the patronesses of Almack's, it was without difficulty that both Rey and Phasma were able to procure an annual voucher for Almack's aptly nicknamed "Marriage Mart" following both of their successful turns at Court.

And so it was that Rey found herself, on the first Wednesday of the third month, traveling with Phasma as part of the procession of carriages which made their way down King Street towards Almack's fabled assembly rooms, en route to meet society’s new crop of most eligible bachelors.

Rey had learned that the predetermined goal for men and women of age during The Season was to find and make a suitable alliance.  She was astute enough to know that most couples would not be lucky enough to find love, and that the majority hoped for at least some amicability.  She was also aware that many would even retain lovers on the side once engaged; it was a frequent enough occurrence, at any rate, to dedicate a period during calling hours for the euphemistically titled "special afternoon tea."

The prospect of a love match was the great hope; a match of both love and passion, the elusive dream.

Rey’s thoughts turned unwillingly to Kylo, and she stole a glance to where he stood in the corner of the room.  He had not returned to Almack's for many years. It was a scene which he did not relish, forced into a charming facade for the patronesses whose ideas of proper social etiquette were often veneers for their own malicious delight in determining social worth. He had participated in the requisite social niceties in the years following his injury, but he found himself with no desire to wed, and definitely to none of the women who attended such things. So it was no surprise that his sudden appearance after all these years caused quite the stir.

Kylo did little to mask his boredom with the group of young women who had gathered near his side, instead delighting in antagonizing their mothers, who became prone to sudden bouts of apoplectic fits or the vapors as their daughters attempted to capture the attentions of the wayward lord.

Kylo's eyes lifted to hers as if reading her thoughts, his lips curling upwards as he raised his glass in her direction.

Rey hid her smile at his impertinence, returning her attentions to her Lord Grievous, grateful when their interminable dance finally came to an end.  She nodded and curtsied, trying not to let her distaste towards his personality or with the patronesses for placing him on her dance card show.

 _Viscount Thanisson of Corsucant_. 

She looked down at the name of her next partner.  She could not imagine the viscount to be any worse than her last.

“Miss Kenobi?  I am Lord Thanisson.  May I have this dance?”

Rey looked up, her eyes widening as the young man approached.  He was nearly six feet tall, with delicate, almost beautiful features, as if he was hovering permanently between the softness of adolescence and young adulthood.  His voice radiated a kindness and humor, and his soft brown eyes hinted at a playfulness which intrigued her.

She suddenly felt shy, her face becomingly flushed as she nodded her acceptance and placed her hand in his.

Thanisson watched her graceful movements appreciatively as they began the quadrille.  He leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially.

"Is it painful?" he asked, his eyes flashing with mischief.

Rey looked at him questioningly, confused.

"I beg your pardon, my Lord? Is what painful?"

Thanisson grinned.  "Your tongue.  It looked to have been permanently lodged between your teeth during your dance with Lord Grievous."

Rey was mortified, until she saw that the young lord was teasing her.

“Yes, at this point, it is a small miracle that I am able to speak with you at all," she replied saucily.

A smile quirked on his lips.  "I find myself incredibly grateful then that it escaped relatively unscathed."  He leaned forward.  "I believe that the Earl of Kalee is much too self-absorbed to have noticed anything amiss. Your secret is safe with me."

Rey laughed, and for the first time that night, she felt an excitement and true enjoyment in her surroundings.  She let Lord Thanisson sweep her up in the dance, his steps matching hers perfectly, graceful and confident.

He smiled at her again.

"How are you enjoying London so far, Miss Kenobi?"

 _I had not, up until now,_ Rey thought as she answered him carefully.

"It has been a great many years since I have been to London.  There are many new experiences which I am eager to try.”

"Ah.  Well, the Philharmonic Society of London is holding its first concert this week at the Argyll Rooms.  Both Muzio Clementi and Nicolas Mori will be among the musicians in attendance.  It promises to be quite the event, I believe a Beethoven symphony is among the works to be performed.”

Rey's eyes lit up.  "Mori is one of my favorite violinists.  He plays with such passion and fire, and his bowing so aggressive and assured.  I believe he would be the perfect choice for Beethoven."

Thanisson's eyes lit up with genuine interest at her knowledge.

"Well, perhaps I will be lucky enough to see you there, then?"

Rey blushed prettily at his words.  "And what of you, my Lord?  How have you been enjoying London so far?"

Thanisson performed a petit-menuet followed by a chaîine de fleurs effortlessly before becoming face to face with Rey once more.

"I believe that my stay has suddenly become much more interesting," he murmured softly, watching her intently.

Rey's blush deepened as the music ended much too quickly.  Thanisson bowed, reluctantly withdrawing his hand.

“Thank you for the dance, Miss Kenobi,” he said, his eyes filled with admiration and interest.

Kylo listened to Rey's gentle laughter as it pulled at him from across the room.  He studiously avoided watching her as she smiled at the handsome young nobleman who was leaving her side, focusing his anger at the glass of lemonade currently clenched in his fist.

He looked down at Almack's paltry offerings with distaste. Unfrosted pound cake, tea and lemonade, an absence of alcohol, and a bevy of young women filled with vague ideals and weak conversation.

He couldn't believe he had coughed up ten guineas for such torture.  He was in desperate need for something stronger.

He gritted his teeth as he recalled Rey's shy flirtation with the viscount.

_Make that something quite a bit stronger._

The melodic strains of a German Waltz started to fill the room.  Kylo watched as Baron Von Neumann, chargé d'affaires for Prince Esterhazy, approached Princess Maria Theresa with a gleam in his eye.

Kylo could not help but admire the baron.  The Austrian diplomat's fondness for the waltz was well-known, and he was often wont to perform it, even in Almack's storied halls.  There were some murmurings of disapproval as the elegant couple began to whirl around the floor, accompanied by several other brave souls while the rest of the audience gazed upon the dancers with a mixture of faint horror and unabashed desire.

Rey smoothed down the folds of her extravagant gown as she watched the moving couples in appreciation.  Her silk dress, tailored by the top notch seamstresses at Maison Worth, had cost more than all the monies she had collected for Plutt over her eight years.  The bodice was low, and while flattering, revealed much more than that which she was accustomed to.  She rearranged herself self-consciously, unaware that another male had approached.

Sir Tyran Lucas was dressed in a well-fitting navy coat, and his breeches showed off his powerful, defined legs.  He was nearly as tall as Kylo, but there was a openly lecherous quality to his gaze which made his otherwise handsome face unappealing as his eyes lingered on her figure for a second too long.

Rey shifted uncomfortably, wishing once again that the dress were cut more modestly.

"Miss Kenobi?" Sir Tyran bowed, the heat of his lips lingering on the back of her hand. " I believe I have the pleasure of this next dance."  His eyes glittered with a feral quality as he placed his arm familiarly around her waist.

A large hand suddenly clasped itself on Sir Tyran's shoulder, its strong fingers digging in painfully.

"I believe you are mistaken," Kylo nearly growled, a dangerous timbre to his tone.  "The next dance is mine."

Kylo didn't wait for the other male's protest as he swept Rey into his arms.  He was furious, his eyes boring into hers angrily as he pressed himself against her.  His hand lay hot and tight against her shoulder, his face so close she could feel every furious breath.

He had stood by all night as they had preened and presented themselves to her, simpering dandies who didn't deserve to serve at her feet.  He watched as their eyes had raked in her body in that scandalous gown, overcome with a possessiveness which he could barely control.  But the thought of her dancing so closely with Tyran, a noble whose reputation with women nearly rivaled Kylo's own, left him with such a raging jealousy that he found himself abandoning his prior companions to quickly reach his ward.  He told himself that he acted to shelter her from Tyran's lascivious advances, but part of him knew that he needed to drive out her thoughts of any other, to forever mark her so that she could never waltz with any other partner but him alone.

"Rey," his voice was hoarse and low as he stared into her hazel eyes, his eyes darkened with his desire.

She felt him everywhere: the strength of his arms as he held her, the jut of his hip against the roundness of her side, the hardness of his chest grazing her breasts, the thrum of his barely restrained energy as he led her around the floor.  She could smell him, that wonderful spicy scent which reminded her of Caserta's winter pines, the sharp freshness of its lake, a scent comfortable and familiar yet thrilling at the same time. 

The heated pressure of his hand against the small of her back drew her even closer as the length of his leg pressed against her own.  Rey swallowed, stilling at the look of ownership in Kylo's eyes as he dropped his gaze towards the line of her throat, staring at its bounding rhythm, his head bending down towards hers as if to inhale and devour her as his mouth nearly brushed the crook of her neck. 

The last notes of the waltz still lingered in the air as Phasma's angry face came up into his view.

"What do you think you're doing?" she hissed angrily as he startled, mortified at his loss of control.

Kylo fingered his cravat.  He felt suddenly suffocated, wishing to claw it off.  

His initial embarrassment and guilt quickly turned to anger.  He needed to leave, to escape the shocked stares and mutterings aimed in his direction, before he made a fool of himself and took Rey down with him in the process, a titillating anecdote in tomorrow's gossip rags.  He was in desperate need of a distraction, and while he was determined to get that tomorrow when he collected on his bet with Hux, he needed to find something more immediate to will away his pain.

He stormed out, heading straight to the gaming hell to drink and gamble away his sorrows, with the intention of following it up with a visit to one of his mistresses.  Perhaps Isabelle would be open to changing their arrangement and go back to fucking him, for just one night.

Perhaps he could lose himself sufficiently in such activities as to drive away the siren's call which played relentlessly in his head.

Perhaps he can start to believe the lie that he would be better off without her, if he continues to tell himself that it is so.

 

 

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

 

Kylo sprawled out against the length of the bed, reveling in the softness of the milky thighs which were currently straddling his own. The room was dimly lit, the white light from the half-moon filtering over the street lamp's muted glow to cast long shadows across the walls.

His eyes were still half-closed, having just been roused from his sleep, although his cock was now rapidly stirring, lengthening and swelling in response to the press of a pair of pillowed breasts against his chest, their hardened nipples tantalizing his skin.

A feminine voice whispered to him from above, causing him to shiver as a pair of soft lips gently brushed against his ear.

" _You are so handsome, my Lord_.”

He moved his hands up, feeling the silky strands of her hair beneath his fingers as he gently removed the pins holding her locks, her glorious mane tumbling across her face he drew her close. He inhaled, the gentle rose fragrance of her soap filling his nostrils, the sweetness of her scent filling his lungs. His lips reached for hers greedily--soft, mouthy kisses, until he grew hungrier still, nipping against her bottom lip until it reddened and swelled and parted to make way for his probing tongue.

He felt her hips roll against his own, the flesh of her buttocks pressing against his thighs as his tongue delved into her mouth, swiping across the edges of her teeth as he tasted her, devouring her and consuming her with his desire. She shifted, her wetness beginning to slick his leg, the smell and sound of her dripping quim causing him to groan as he grabbed her hips, urging her forward.

He was aching, every sensation concentrated on his swollen cock, hard and reddened and jutting upwards, begging for her touch. He hissed as he felt her hand tentatively encircle its base.  He rutted slowly as she lowered her body against his own, dragging her soft curves along his muscled planes, her tongue licking along its path, hot and tortured and wet.

She settled in between his thighs, breathing him in as she blew gently across the tip of his cock, tickling the hairs at its base.

“ _Kylo_ ,” she sighed, his name a loving caress on her lips.

She quickly enveloped his hard length within her warm mouth.  Her tongue danced wickedly as she hollowed out her cheeks, licking and sucking, drawing out his moans as she took him further towards the back of her throat.

He gasped as she nearly managed to take his entire length, her fist grappling with the remainder of his cock as she alternately sucked and squeezed, breathing around his girth.  It was sweet torture: the skill with which she used her mouth, the vibration of her breathing, the sounds of his cock sliding noisily back and forth, and the slick of her saliva along his velvety shaft.  She pulled back suddenly, licking his tip vigorously, tonguing the slit and lapping at the pearly collection of fluid before taking him down once again.

He let out a groan; he could come from the pressure of her tongue, her forceful licks begging him to spill into her throat.  Yet even as he began to slowly push against those swollen lips, he was overcome with the need to be buried deep inside.

He brought his hands to her head, pulling her away gently as he urged her upwards.

“ _Please_ ,” he whispered, his voice a low and throaty plea.

She pulled away, giving his cock a final lick before releasing him from her bruised mouth. She raised herself up and maneuvered herself over his prick, his tip resting against her entrance.

“ _Yes_ ,” Kylo groaned, thrusting his hips forward in an attempt to capture her, but restrained by the pressure of her hand.

She teased him as he growled, angling herself towards him as she positioned her hips, her breasts a hairsbreadth from his lips.  She purred in satisfaction as he pushed forward in response, unable to quiet the sounds of her pleasure as he finally sheathed himself within her slick walls.

He reached around and grabbed her ass, his cock sliding in and out as she moved against him. He felt the pressure building in his groin, the growing tension in his muscles as his buttocks and legs contracted under her steady grind.  Her eyes were closed, her head thrown back with her soft brown curls plastered against her cheek, her breathing coming out in uneven huffs as she panted and mewled, little appreciative sounds which hardened him further. 

He sat upright, pulling her close, her hands clawing his back as he nipped the base of her throat.  He plundered her mouth and her pussy simultaneously as he thrust into her, her body beginning to shudder and clench as he swallowed her cries.

 _“Look at  me, my love,"_ he begged. _“Let me watch you come.”_

Her eyes fluttered open even as her movements became more frantic. He gazed upon her closely, her image imprinting itself on his mind as he took in her wanton and flushed expression, staring into her hazel eyes.

_**Bloody hell.** _

Kylo’s eyes flew open.  The cotton sheets were wrapped around his legs, his cock so hard that it was red and angry and leaking from its tip.

 _Bloody, bloody hell_.

He knew he should have sought relief with another last night. Hours in the betting hall had done nothing to remove her from his thoughts, nor had the copious amounts of alcohol.

He cursed his lack of control. He hadn’t felt the need for self-pleasure for so long, always preferring to find a more personal outlet to sate his lust, yet he was now awake and alone in his room, panting and painfully hard.

He brought his hand down to his rigid shaft and pulled back the foreskin, stroking furiously.  He groaned at the increasing friction as his hand twisted near the sensitive glans, his thumb spreading the gathering fluid along the tip as he pumped frantically, thinking of her.

He imagined her riding him as she had in his dream, her passion matching his own, her body sensual yet innocent, bold yet pliant.  He is subsumed with the thought of her touch as he fucked the circle made by his forefinger and his thumb, his sheets sticky and wet with the sweat of his efforts.   He clutched at the fabric in one hand, his other fisting his increasingly sensitive cock as it quickened against the roughness of his palm, his arm stiffening as he worked towards his rapidly approaching release.

“ _Rey.”_

Her name spills over his lips as he shudders, his come spurting over his belly in long ropes, painting the sheets.

Kylo lay there in the aftermath of his orgasm under the pale moonlight, breathless and dazed, letting out a half-sob as he continued to grip his softening erection. His thundering heart ached with the realization that despite this temporary respite, the memory of her image and the imaginative yearnings of his lust could never be an adequate replacement for the real thing.

 

 


	12. An Ungentlemanly Wager

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo tries to apologize for his reckless behavior. 
> 
> [excerpt]:  
> Mr. Daniels appeared in the doorway, a silver salver in his hands.  
>   
> “Lord Thanisson, the Viscount of Coruscant is here. Shall I let him know that you are in?”  
>   
> Rey picked up Thanisson's calling card from the tray, its engraved lettering bold and masculine yet simple, without the need for any additional flourish. There was something comforting in its honesty, and she remembered the kind and handsome young man with whom she had shared a dance at Almack’s several nights ago.

 

* * *

 

_**Look in the face of the person to whom you are speaking if you wish to know his real sentiments, for he can command his words more easily than his countenance** _

-Philip Stanhope, 4th Earl of Chesterfield

 

Daylight streamed in through the windows of The Grenier's Hotel, the paned glass and glazing bars doing little to diffuse the sun's brightness as it flooded the room.

While its warmth may have been a welcome blessing, its brilliance was not. Kylo winced as he opened a bleary eye. Even his beloved city was somehow conspiring against him, refusing to favor him with its typically gray March skies when he awoke so cropsick after a night spent in his altitudes.

The pounding in his temples increased as the clattering from the streets grew. He felt his stomach contents roil in protest as he attempted to sit, threatening to relocate to his throat. There was a horrible, residual taste in his mouth, a taste which he was not sure was entirely due to the lingering effects of his last cups of rum-nantz.

The memories came rushing back, breaking through the haze of a restless sleep and the side effects of too much drink to tug at his guilt. His gut clenched at the recollection of his jealousy and anger as he watched helplessly while Rey was passed from one man to another, her smile and her words directed towards their eyes and ears and not his own. He swallowed uncomfortably as he remembered the look of disappointment on Phasma’s face as he held Rey tightly in his arms, whispering her name in a manner that no respectable guardian ever should.

He had come perilously close to damaging Rey's reputation irreparably with his reckless behavior. Her prospects for a respectable marriage and éclat, the results of months of her hard work, would be lost should she be branded a barque of frailty, and through no fault of her own.

Kylo stood, his legs wobbling unsteadily like those of a first-time swimmer on a guard-ship. He stumbled towards the pitcher which sat atop a nearby table, the water spilling over his cracked lips as he drank, soothing his parched throat.

He glanced at his pocket watch. The time was nearing eleven, and he would have preferred a strong cup of coffee or tea instead, but he was in no shape to head down for breakfast. He briefly toyed with the idea of a shower bath to rinse away the grime, but the thought of being doused by buckets of cold, recycled water when he could barely stand quickly cut short such contemplation.

An argument outside brought him to the window. The streets were more crowded than ever, the city teeming with displaced soldiers and unemployed farm workers who sought to make a living in London's growing number of factories. With the influx of disgruntled citizens and poverty came the increase in crime, and it was not unusual to see public executions in front of droves of the hoi polloi, their appetite for the morbid satiated by the spectacle even as their stomachs were filled with drink and refreshment.

He drew the curtains closed, muffling the din and welcoming the relative darkness, sighing deeply. He would set things right; he would pay a call to Rey this afternoon and apologize for his behavior. As he headed towards his wardrobe however, he teetered, the nausea and spinning sensation nearly knocking him to the ground.

Kylo stumbled back into bed, placing a pillow over his head to shut out the light and the rest of the world.

His apology would have to wait until tomorrow.

　

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

 

By the time Kylo and Hux stepped through the doors of White's that evening, the esteemed club was already filled with plenty of men who were deemed gentle by birth, although not necessarily by nature.

"Lord Ren!"

Kylo turned, nodding a greeting to William Arden, second Baron of Alvanley. The baron was seated next to Beau Brummell in front of the bowed widow overlooking 37 James Street. Although Kylo could do without Brummell's foppish nature and the _arbiter elegantiarum’s_ excessive attention to aesthetics, he was amused by Alvanley, who was not only a bruising rider to hounds, but famed for his biting wit.

"Alvanley," Kylo drawled. "Still keeping your valet busy with putting out your fires?" It was not a mere rumor that the young baron had taken to snuffing out his candles by throwing them across the room.

Alvanley laughed. "The only fires I set nowadays are the ones left under my horses' feet. Will I see you at Newmarket in a fortnight?"

"When have I ever given up the chance to win a purse of guineas from you, Alvanley?" Kylo grinned as he continued to work his way through the room.

 Hux nudged Kylo as they passed Lord Barrington, who was busy perusing the latest copy of _Harris’s List of Convent Garden Ladies_.  The annual pocket guide provided a much sought-after service for those without the ready convenience of a mistress, its listings cataloguing London’s prostitutes by age, physical countenance, proclivities, and even their disease status.  Yet despite however and from whomever Barrington chose to receive his pleasures tonight, it was a given that he would be right back in Almack’s the next Wednesday, on the hunt for a chaste and respectable bride-to-be.

Kylo’s eyes danced wickedly as he needled Hux.

"Something capturing your interest?"

Hux had the decency to look affronted, his fair skin pinkening several shades as he coughed out a denial.

Kylo laughed.  "Don't worry, I know your moral code prevents you from stooping to such levels.  One would think you took a vow of celibacy."

Hux glared at his friend.  "I'm hardly a stranger to the pleasures of a woman's body, Ren, but it doesn't mean I need to place my plug tail in every available mummer and madge that I see."

Kylo looked thoughtful.  "Why deny yourself the pleasures in life when they are so readily available?  Speaking of which, now that Rey has been successfully presented in Court, I believe that I have won our little wager? An entertainment in London, of my own choosing?”

Hux's face relaxed as he chuckled at Kylo's eagerness.

“I did not forget about our bet, Ren, nor did I forget the terms.  You know I always pay my debts with honor.” He winced at the recollection. “Unlike you, however, I do care about my reputation. So what exactly did you have in mind?”

“Oh, let’s just say it’s been something that I’ve been looking forward to doing for quite some time," Kylo answered cryptically. "Meet me at the Theatre-Royal in Covent Garden at 8 o'clock tomorrow evening.”

Hux spared Kylo a quizzical glance. “A surprisingly sedate choice, Ren, although I can’t say I’m disagreeable to the idea. Surprised, perhaps, but not disagreeable in the least.”

Kylo just grinned. “Perhaps you should hold your opinion on the evening until after it is complete.”

No sooner had Hux opened his mouth with a half-formed retort when a shout and an excited flurry of activity erupted from the opposite side of the room. The betting book lay open on the table, the ledger recording wagers from the day before, including the identity of Lady Newton's next lover; the outcome of Wellesley's next battle against Joseph Bonaparte in Spain; and the time at which Sir Spencer would walk through the club's doors.

Kylo laughed as they approached the growing crowd. "I haven't seen this much excitement since Alvanley bet £3,000 on the faster of two raindrops.  It must be some poor young woman's virginity that they are wagering over, to draw such interest."

Hux leaned over, reading as the wager and the bets were being avidly recorded.

His green eyes widened frantically as he spun around.

"Ren. Come, I've grown tired of such fodder," he said, placing his arm on Kylo's in an attempt to steer him in the opposite direction. "Why don't we head to the cardroom, for a game of faro?"

Kylo grinned. "Perhaps I'd like to place a wager myself, first." He made his way to the table, his golden eyes rapidly changing from a brimming warmth to a cold fury as he read the words which were written below.

"Sir Tyran!" he shouted, heading over towards the smirking man, a roar in between his ears.

The atmosphere crackled with a dangerous tension as Kylo stared at the younger male.  Physically, they could almost pass as brothers, if not for the scar on Kylo's cheek, his more angular nose, and paler skin.  Although Tyran was shorter than Kylo by less than half an inch, his shoulders were nearly as broad, tapering down to a similarly narrowed waist and powerfully long legs.  Even their faces shared a resemblance: Kylo's long and ebony locks flowing like Tyran's chestnut mane; both sets of lips easily transitioning between a hard, cruel line and a wide, sensual smile; and two pairs of golden eyes, fluidly expressive of every thought and emotion. 

"Ahh, Lord Ren. Have you come to place a bet on your ward as well? I must say, she looked absolutely delectable dancing in your arms last night, I do hope you will give the rest of us a chance."

Kylo felt his fists clenching uncontrollably at his side, longing to wipe the smug look off of Tyran's face.

"You dare to impugn Miss Kenobi's virtue?" he seethed.

Tyran molded his face into one of mild shock.

"Oh, you have it wrong, Ren.  This is not a question of her virtue, as it currently stands.  It is only one of how long it will last."

Kylo propelled himself forward, his fury uncontrolled and only slightly abated as he felt the satisfying impact of his fist against Tyran's jaw. The other man fought back, and they were soon pummeling one another, fists bared, their faces quickly becoming bloody and bruised. Kylo tasted the blood as it trickled from his nose into the corner of his mouth, its tangy, coppery taste giving him a primal satisfaction even as he split Tyran's upper lip.

Tyran looked Kylo furiously, his face purpling and swelling, marring his handsome features as he spit out his next words.

"You know I love a challenge, Ren," he threatened, his words wet with his blood and saliva. "And I take this very much as one."

Kylo felt a multitude of hands pulling him away amidst several drunken shouts of encouragement as he landed one last good punch to Tyran's ribs.  As his vision cleared, he noted the disdain on some of his peer's faces at the outwardly display of aggression in such a forum.

"This isn't Gentleman Jackson's Boxing Saloon," said Beau Brummel condescendingly. "Save your fisticuffs for Bond Street."

Kylo was thrown unceremoniously out the door along with Tyran, Hux and Tyran's friends close at their heels.

Hux sighed. "If you're going to do me in with whatever activities you have planned for tomorrow night, perhaps it would be best to head home early. Let's get something cold on that face, shall we?"

Kylo grunted his agreement, his mood dark once more.

He had foolishly let his emotions overrule his logic. It was never really a matter of his raffish behavior.  The problem was always with his flagrant disregard for the unspoken rules of discretion, as was demonstrated in his injudicious choice of venue or his indelicate and ill-considered dalliances.  At this point, he would be lucky if he weren't thrown out of White's altogether and blackballed from obtaining membership in any other club.

Still, he thought, he couldn't say that he wouldn't do it all over again, if he were required to defend Rey's honor once more.

 

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

 

For the first time since arriving in London, Rey felt a growing restlessness and dissatisfaction.  The last several days had made her feel as if she were a blood horse on display, groomed and selected for the sole purpose of some heretofore unknown nobleman’s competition and pleasure.

She was cosseted to the point where she had become dependent on another for everything from her dress and her style of hair to her manner of speech.  And while she was grateful for her change in fortune, she couldn’t help the uncomfortable feeling that she was slowly losing sight of not only who she was, but what she wanted.

Rey knew that she longed for those things which any person would: warmth and protection from the elements, security and a full belly.  She knew that Kylo and his family had generously provided her with an escape from the terrible uncertainty of whether she would make it through her days physically unscathed, a fear with which she had lived for so long.  But she also yearned for love--for a sense of belonging, for a mutual understanding and a reciprocated passion mired in respect.

She had felt hints of the last--at least of the passion, when she was with Kylo.  But for the last several months, he had seemed progressively withdrawn, and once they had reached London, the physical separation made their emotional distance that much greater.  In the meantime, she continued to meet suitor after suitor, all the while despairing that love loomed nowhere near her future.

The rain began to fall steadily, its needle-sharp pattering quickly turning dull as the heavens opened up, the fattening droplets falling heavily against the paned glass.  Any possibility of a walk that afternoon to clear her head was now extinguished, and she headed to the library to lose herself in a good book.

The library in the townhouse was not as expansive as the one in Caserta, but its windowed walls and comfortable seating were just as soothing and inviting.  Rey scanned the shelves, noting the more recent additions of some celebrated female authors such as Edgeworth’s _Leonora_ , Dacre’s _Libertine_ , and Austen’s _Sense and Sensibility_.  Fearing that the subject matter would be too close to her current situation to provide her with a much needed escape, she continued to browse until she spied a small book tucked into one of the corners, its well-worn cover suggesting something which had been frequently read and enjoyed.

The book slid out quietly, its weight comfortable against her hands and its cover smooth against her palms.  She gasped as she read the title, and if that weren't enough cause for her face to flame, its tonal prints most certainly were, their richness and depth portraying a young woman and man in various states of dishabille while engaging in acts of a most intimate nature.  She moved closer to the natural light of the window, her eyes widening as her fingers traced over the erotic scenes.

Rey startled as a noise in the entranceway pulled her out of her trance.  She quickly tucked the book beneath the curtain panel as the sound of footsteps grew closer.  She stepped in front of the drapery for good measure, hoping to hide any residual evidence of her recent activity under the volume of her skirt.

“Miss Kenobi?”

Mr. Daniels appeared in the doorway, a silver salver in his hands.

“Lord Thanisson, the Viscount of Coruscant is here.  Shall I let him know that you are in?”

Rey picked up Thanisson's calling card from the tray, its engraved lettering bold and masculine yet simple, without the need for any additional flourish.  There was something comforting in its honesty, and she remembered the kind and handsome young man with whom she had shared a dance at Almack’s several nights ago.

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Daniels.”

Mr. Daniels left, and returned several minutes later with Jessika, who quietly situated herself in a chair in the opposite corner of the room.  Thanisson entered soon after, his slim and boyish figure well-turned in a blue tailcoat and tan trousers, the ruffles of his muslin shirt sitting high on his neck, accentuating its length.  His eyes lit up with delight upon seeing Rey, with a look of awe which she found surprisingly endearing.

He bowed.  “I am honored that you received my call, Miss Kenobi.  Your presence is a spot of sunshine on an otherwise dreary day.”

She felt the blush extend from her neck into her cheeks as Thanisson watched her, his light brown hair damp against his neck and his long lashes wet from the rain.

" _The truth is, that in London it is always a sickly season,_ " Rey teased.

"Ahh but _When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford_.”  Thanisson smiled. "I am glad to see that your tongue has recovered quite nicely since we last met," he added.

Rey laughed softly; the young viscount's words had the unnerving effect of stealing her breath.

Thanisson smiled gently.

“I am sorry to have missed you at the Argyll Rooms yesterday.”

“I am sorry to have missed the performance," she answered wistfully.  "I would have loved to see Beethoven's work performed live.”

“If you are interested, there is another chance to do so.  There will be a performance of _Fidelio_ in the Theatre at Drury Lane next week.  It is the newest rendition, and the mastery of the singers in performing such a difficult work is really something to behold.”

A throat cleared in the background and Thanisson visibly startled as Kylo strode in.  He inclined his head towards Jessika, who rose up from her seat upon his unspoken request and exited the room.

Kylo sat down and folded one long leg over the other as he watched Rey and the young lord intently.

The thought of listening to an operatic masterpiece in the place of another night of forced pleasantries and insubstantial conversation was almost too much to hope for.  Rey glanced at Kylo, feeling a bit daring as she let her desire to attend be known.

"I've never been to the opera before," she admitted, "but I can only imagine what a magnificent experience for the senses it must be."

The look of Rey’s open longing at Thanisson’s invitation twisted something in Kylo’s gut.  He swallowed down his own feelings; Thanisson had not shown anything but the most proper respect, and there was no logical reason for Kylo to deny her this wish.

“ _Fidelio_ is a great work by an even greater artist,” he said gruffly.  “I have no objections if Miss Kenobi would like to attend with you.  Since I myself had planned to go, I shall be accompanying my ward as her chaperone for the evening.”

The lie fell smoothly from his lips.  He had no desire to sit through a work centered around the themes of love and revenge while his emotions were in such a fragile state, yet the thought of leaving Rey under his mother’s matchmaking tendencies and with a guest so unobjectionable as Thanisson was too much for him to bear.

“Thank you, My Lord,” Rey said delightedly, her eyes sparkling with genuine excitement.  “I would love to attend.”

Thanisson looked thrilled, his face unable to hide his happiness.  The young man's grin soon faltered, however, under Kylo’s unwavering stare.

“I will be counting down the days until the performance, then,” Thanisson said as Kylo coughed from his chair, something suddenly lodged in his throat.

Thanisson stood, bidding Rey and Kylo goodbye.

“Good day, Miss Kenobi.  Lord Ren.”

Kylo watched Thanisson’s back as Mr. Daniels led the noble out, turning to Rey once the front door was closed.

"What are your feelings towards Thanisson?" Kylo asked, his tone deceptively casual.

"He is kind and has treated me well," Rey answered slowly.  "He is one of the few who seems to be interested in what I have to say."

Kylo tried not to stare at the way she was worrying her lower lip.

"Yes.  He seems very-- _pleasant_ ," Kylo added.

Rey looked down at him, daring him to state that  _being pleasant_  was a bad thing.

“Lord Thanisson seems to have made his intentions known rather quickly,” Kylo drawled.  “You must have made quite the impression on him at the Assembly Rooms.”

Rey’s anger flared at Kylo’s innuendo.  She looked up sharply, the expression on his face remaining passive and infuriatingly cool.

She began to feel piqued as he continued to watch, until a weariness suddenly washed over her, the strain of their interactions leaving her exhausted and uncertain.

“I believe I have the beginnings of a headache, My Lord.  If you don't mind, I will be retiring to my room now,” she stated, heading for the door.

Kylo stood, a guilty expression on his face.

“Rey, I’m sorry.  It was not my attention to wrong-foot you.  I came here to ask your forgiveness, to apologize…”

Kylo stopped suddenly. She saw his eyes dart towards the flash of orange which had become exposed from behind the curtain, no longer hidden by her gown.  Her mouth dropped open and she let out a cry of mortification as she reached out shakily to retrieve it, only to find Kylo bridging the distance between them in two powerful strides.

“What is this?” Kylo asked furiously, knowing full well what she held in her hands.

Rey’s eyes widened at his anger, at the way he gripped her wrist.  She glanced down at his kuckles, their tops bruised and scratched, still swollen and painful.

“Is this how you have been spending your time in London?” Kylo asked, seething.  He was assaulted with images of Rey, her curves fully on display in her Parisian gowns, blushing and flirting with Thanisson while inspiring the desires of men like Tyran.  His anger twisted through his face and flashed in his eyes, memories of his own sexual awakening and promiscuity after reading the book which she now held in her hands overwhelming him and tainting any rational thought. 

Kylo pushed against her, his leg nudging against the folds of her dress and between her own, crowding her against the wall.

“Perhaps Tyran was right," Kylo ground out, his breath hot against her face, "Perhaps your virtue is overrated.”

Rey flinched, Kylo's verbal assault hurting her as much as Plutt’s hand ever did.  Her shock quickly turned to fury at his presumption even as her traitorous body reacted to his nearness, arcing up against him so the slide of their bodies were separated only by the thin fabric of their clothing.

Her voice shook.  “How dare you presume anything?  What do you know of me, of all that I have done in my life to keep my virtue and integrity intact?  When you uprooted me from everything I knew, a human pawn in your foolish bet, you, my lord, have shown yourself to be no different from the rest of them.  You only see a female form, costumed in a dress.  Never a person, only a means to an end."

Kylo was duly chastised.  She was trembling with emotion, her voice breaking and her eyes shining as she fought back her tears.  He glanced at the door upon hearing her outburst, wondering if they should move to somewhere more private, but if any of the staff heard, they remained noticeably silent.

Rey continued, five months of frustration welling up and breaking through her like the floodwaters.  A sharpness and twang became more prominent in her speech, the mix of cadences and dialects rising up once again in her anger.

“And now you accuse me of being nothing more than a light-skirt, a loose-piece.  I have known more than my share of buricks, my lord, and they possess more decency and principle than the majority of those who call themselves gentlemen!”

Kylo watched as the gamut of emotions flit through her face until her body suddenly went pliant against his, exhausted.  The truth of her accusations tore at him as she pushed back her sobs, and he was filled with a desire to take her in his arms and soothe away her sorrows.

He removed his leg, filled with a sudden emptiness as he moved away.

He looked at her, his thumb trailing gently down the side of her jaw hesitantly, as if wary of a skittish colt.  His voice was so soft, she would not have heard it if not for his breath against her cheek.

“What do you want, Rey?”

"I want to be loved.  Truly loved." 

Kylo looked at her sadly.  "Love like that only exists in myth and fairy tales."

Rey shook her head stubbornly.  "It's my fairy tale.  My parents had it. I want it, too."

Kylo felt an ache in his heart, a remnant from his past in which he had also believed in the truth of such sentiments.  His anger at what had become of his life quickly slid into feelings of self-pity and worthlessness, until he looked at her face.

Rey was staring at him fiercely, her eyes and lips slightly parted as if begging him to remember, to believe.

He took her in his arms, unable to crush her fairy tale dreams.  He stroked her hair, murmuring his apologies even as her skin burned underneath his fingers, soft and yielding.  She looked beautiful and glorious in her conviction, as she leaned forward on her toes, her eyes falling over the curve of his lips, his name a sigh on her breath, sad yet hopeful. And even though part of him wanted nothing more than to devour her and to run his hands over every curve as he tasted every inch of her, there was another part, long thought dead, which desired something even more.

_True love._

His heart hammering, Kylo leaned in, his mouth slanting breathlessly over her own. And as he felt the softness of her lips give way and he tasted her for the first time, it was almost enough to make him believe.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book which Rey finds in the library is "Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure," written by John Cleland and first published in 1748 (also known by the title of "Fanny Hill.") It is the same book which Kylo and Bazine were reading in chapter 6, which led to Kylo's first kiss and his sexual awakening.


	13. An Officer and a Gentleman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux prepares himself for a night out as Ren collects on their wager.
> 
> [excerpt]:  
> An apology begins to form, but dies quickly on his lips as the woman turns around at the noise, her vivid blue eyes widening in equal surprise.
> 
>  _Well I’ll be drafted_ , Hux thought, the heat flushing to his face, his heart in his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As many of you know, I love writing Hux, in all his various iterations. I appreciate all the positive comments regarding his characterization in this particular fic, and as the recent canon revelation of Armitage Hux's backstory coincided with the writing of this chapter, I couldn't help but incorporate some of the information into his storyline.  
>   
> So here it is, for all the Gentleman Hux fans.....

* * *

 

_**Of those who really love their sons, few know how to do it. Some spoil them when they are young, and then quarrel with them when they are grown up, for having been spoiled; some love them like mothers, and attend only to the bodily health and strength of the hopes of their family, solemnize his birthday, and rejoice, like the subjects of the Great Mogul, at the increase of his bulk: while others, minding, as they think, only essentials, take pains and pleasure to see in their heir, all their favourite weaknesses and imperfections** _

-Philip Stanhope, 4th Earl of Chesterfield

 

 _What in the blazes is wrong with you?_   Hux asked himself nervously as he brought the ends of his cravat towards the front, slipping the left piece over the right and pulling it through the gap.

His fingers worked quickly to tighten the knot.  He had finished a light supper of boiled meat and fish with one of the other officers at the Steven’s Hotel when Mitaka had informed him that Lord Ren was unavoidably delayed, with the additional instructions that Lord Hux should meet him in the Organa-Solo private box at the Royal Theatre instead.

There was a goodly chance that Hux would be late as well, with what little time there was left to traverse the crowds between Bond and Bow Streets before the opening curtain.  Hux's punctuality and fastidiousness were always qualities in which he took great pride, despite Ren’s frequent teasing that he would always remain a staunch cove.

The thought of his friend brought about a smile. Ren was well-known for his wicked sense of humor, a quality apparent as early as their school days at Westminster, where Kylo's exploits had stood out even in a sea of unruly behavior.  It was often that the future Marchess would find himself on the receiving end of a reprimand and some overwrought hand wringing from their embattled Headmaster as a result of his actions.  Given Ren’s delight in the element of surprise, Hux was sure that tonight’s events would have been thought out in advance as well.

Perhaps he would allow himself to truly indulge in Ren's plans, just this once.  Although Hux had experienced the pleasures of being with a woman for more than his fair share, he never had the penchant for the libidinous excesses which attracted so many of his peers.  He had also recently turned twenty nine, and was of an age where his elder brother and a good many of his fellow officers were already thinking of, or had started families of their own.

Fear and sorrow can destroy many a lesser man, especially when one is exposed to a wealth of it from the unimaginable horrors of war.  There are different ways in which a person may try to forget: some soliders attempt to escape through their cups, while others may shag and shive their way through town.  But Hux could never find relief in such actions, for in the morning, he was still left saddled with his memories and his feelings and his inescapable sense of self.

Hux closed his eyes, Ren's words from the night before echoing through his mind.

_Why deny yourself the pleasures in life when they are so readily available?_

Hux looked out the bedroom window.  The lamplighters were already out with their step ladders and long poles, rubbing their hands together as the street corners began to take on a yellow and fuzzy glow.  The late March night air was still brazenly cold.  Hux threw on his overcoat and gloves, his stomach clenching in nervous anticipation as he stepped out of the hotel and turned the corner, on his way towards Covent Garden.

 

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

 

The musicians were already settled into the pit by the time Hux arrived.  He racked his memory for Ren’s box— _third tier, left of center_ —and headed towards the secondary stairs.  As he passed the loge type boxes of the first and second circles, the notes of the reedy oboes and breathy flutes swelled along with the open-stringed "A's," the crescendoing sounds of the tuning instruments rising through the air to fill out the elliptical semi-dome.

Hux reached the his destination, just underneath the fourth tier with its two-shilling rooms and side pigeon holes.  The recently built private boxes were beautifully equipped, with their high ceilings and anterooms, painted in a soft grey instead of the typical pink and further decorated with the same fancy drapery which adorned the back of the pit and its fluted iron columns.

He pulled open the mahogany door, his eyes adjusting to the change in the light.  He frowned when he noticed the other occupant who was turned towards and avidly watching the stage; it was not Ren’s tall and imposing masculine figure, but rather an elegant and decidedly feminine one, clad in a lavendar silken gown, her luscious russet locks gleaming even in the muted light.

An apology begins to form, but dies quickly on his lips as the woman turns around at the noise, her vivid blue eyes widening in equal surprise.

 _Well I’ll be drafted_ , Hux thought, the heat flushing to his face, his heart in his throat.

Hux's voice has commanded the behaviors of hundreds of men and inspired their unquestioning loyalties, but what comes out now is quavering and uncertain instead.

"Madame de Montespan," Hux bowed. "A pleasure to see you once again."

He faltered.  Hux is not sure when Ren will actually arrive, but it would be impolite to seat himself apart from her when they are the only two here so close to the start of the show.  He chose the chair immediately to her left and settled himself down.

" _Bonsoir_ , Lord Hux," Isabelle greeted him delightedly. "What a pleasant surprise. Are you also a fan of Mozart, or the opera buffa?"

"I enjoy both, although I must admit that my presence here was at the behest of Ren." He took in the circle parapets with their golden palmettes and the glass and gilted chandeliers which projected from the tiers.

"The recent renovations to the theater are not the only beautiful things here tonight. You look lovely, Isabelle."

A becoming blush suffused the cream-colored tone of her cheeks at his flattery.

_"C'est vraiment gentil de ta part."_

They settled in their seats as the strains of the overture filled the theater.

"I am looking forward to this," whispered Isabelle eagerly.  "Mistaken identities, infidelity, and jealous lovers.  I am surprised that the Royal Theatre finally gave in to performing this work, given its scandalous nature and your delicate British sensibilities."

Hux smiled in agreement, watching the stage.  The actors were gathered in front of an outdoor café, arguing in favor of their fiancées' loyalty against a cynical Don Alfonso.

"Hmmm," frowned Isabelle  " _Così fan tutte_.  Do you believe that to be true? That 'Women are like that?'"

"It is interesting that they are arguing over a woman's capacity for fidelity," Hux replied slowly over the soaring baritone and tenor notes. "When, in my experience, men may be as equally careless with their affections."

Isabelle turned to watch him interestingly.  "I agree, my Lord.  Allthough I must add that if one is lucky enough to find a love worth having, it is something to be cherished and protected, no matter what temptations may lay in one's path.  ' _Si l'amour n'est qu'une illusion, alors qu'est-ce que la réalité?'"_

She watched as Hux's eyes widened in surprise, before he quickly schooled his expression. Her laugh was both knowing and sad. She realized that Hux was reacting to her dalliances with Ren, as well as with other men.

"Ahh.  Perhaps you think me hypocritical, that a woman such as myself could hold such romantic ideals?"

"Forgive me, Isabelle," Hux blushed, not denying her observation.  "But you are intelligent and well-informed, and there is no denying your beauty.  You must be used to having men fall at your feet; surely you could find someone to love, if that is the reality you seek?"

Isabelle lowered her head and glanced back towards the stage.  "If only it were so simple."

Her voice grew soft, her eyes distant.  "Many of the rumors which have been said about me are true.  My mother was a favorite in the French court. I was only nine when we escaped to England during the _Révolution française_ , mere months before Louis-Auguste was desacralized and guillotined.  As much as the English love French fashion and culture, the same cannot be said about a French expatriate.  Even as my mother attempted to rebuild our lives, we would always be looked upon as an outsider.

"And so I chose to embrace my role as a member of the _demimonde._ I have learned to enjoy the influence I wield--over the arts, dress, and yes, even over men--at a time when so many women have such little.  I may not be considered a marriageable commodity, but I enjoy a grand life and with grand company, or at least until the next 'fashionable impure' comes along."

She looked up at Hux, daring his censure.  His green eyes softened with sympathy.

"Is that so wrong, my Lord?  To be able to enjoy the pleasures and benefits of polite society, when I am denied that which I desire the most?"

She looked back down.  It was a refrain which she had long repeated. She knew who she was, but she was also not a fool, and although she enjoyed her relationships with men, knew that it was a poor substitute for love.

Hux understood Isabelle's predicament more than she realized.  He took in her delicate features, her head now held high, her beautifully expressive eyes so lively yet wistful.  He longed to reach out and take her hands into his own and reassure her that she was deserving of such love.

Instead, he kept his arms properly to his side.

"As your countryman once eloquently wrote, ' _Le prix d'Amour, c'est seulement Amour.'_ And to me, love is a price worth paying.  It is something which all of us should be rich enough to deserve."

Isabelle smiled, and they sat there in a comfortable silence as they watched the action on stage.  It was only at the end of the first act, when the curtain descended and the noise of the crowd grew, that Hux heard a knock on the door and realized that Ren had not yet shown.

"Lord Hux."  Mitaka entered, handing Hux a note in Ren's familiar script.

 

 

> _**My dear Hux,** _
> 
> _**I regret that I will not be able to join you and Mme. de Montespan this evening.  I understand that you have already accepted the invitation to the event of my choosing, thus fulfilling the terms of our wager.  But please know that what I truly choose--what I hope for--is for my closest friend to finally allow himself the happiness which he deserves.** _
> 
> _**~Ren** _

 

Hux looked up from the note at Isabelle, her eyebrow quizzically raised.

"Lord Ren will not be joining us tonight, will he?"

"No," Hux answered, realizing at that very moment that he may have been he one to win their bet, after all.

 

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

 

Hux remained close to Isabelle's side as they exited the theater following the show.  Although Isabelle lived nearby in a neighborhood inhabited by many of the actors and actresses, Covent Garden was also home to many notable prostitutes, and close to the rough and impoverished West End.

Isabelle glanced up at the tall man next to her, her breath escaping in warm tendrils into the crisp, nighttime air.

"Thank you for walking me home, my Lord.  Are you certain you are not embarrassed to do so?  A Lieutenant General of the Royal Army, conspiring with the enemy?"  She kept her voice light and teasing, but there was an underlying sadness, as if she feared the truth of her statement.

"I have learned not to define a person by their country of origin, Isabelle.  I have seen both the good and the bad in men, in situations where loyalties and truths can too easily falter to put too much stock in uncontrollable circumstances such as one's birthplace when assessing one's character."

She watched him, his hair a deeper red in the streetlamp's yellow glow.  His jaw was set, and there was a faraway look in his eyes, which made her think that his comment was of a more personal nature, and possibly a painful one.  She decided to divert the conversation back to something more immediate and familiar.

She allowed herself to be forward.  "Forgive my boldness, my lord.  How is it that a handsome gentleman such as yourself finds himself walking with _les_ _Grandes Horizontales_  instead of with a lover, or perhaps a family to return home to?"

He remained initially quiet, and Isabelle is suddenly filled with the sinking sensation that she had overstepped her bounds despite her earlier confessions regarding her own life.  Her anxiety decreased slightly as he finally began to speak.

"Bold, to be certain, but a fair question." Hux smiled faintly.

"I suppose I have not devoted the necessary time for that side of my personal life," he continued.  "My dedications have lay elsewhere for so long; first, to my father, and then to my lessons, and eventually to the military.

"My father was an influential man: the 1st Earl of Corellia, and a member of the Irish peerage.  He was charismatic, and known to be extremely persuasive and charming when necessary.  Unfortunately, he did not see fit to extend these qualities to his family very often.

“I am the second surviving son.  As my older brother was first in line to inherit my father's earldom, my father had suggested that I follow in Wellesley’s footsteps to become a commissioned officer of the British Army after I had completed my studies."

“Was this something which you desired as well?” Isabelle asked.

Hux took a deep breath.  “In as much as I had wanted to please my father, yes.  And once I was commissioned, I found myself well suited for the life.” That much was true; although Hux had entered active service initially through purchase, his rapid promotion through the ranks were based solely on his skills, literacy and merit.

Isabelle had no doubt that his high-ranking position at such a young age was due to a combination of ambition and competence.  Hux understood her train of thought, and clarified.

“When I mentioned that I was well-suited, it was not just because of my ability to lead,” he stated without a hint of pride.  “I know that many of our soldiers enlisted under questionable circumstances; why else would they subject themselves to such a severe life if there were more attractive options available to them?  And yes, I have heard the names called out to them in spite--sc _um of the earth; rogues; drunkards_.  Yet it is among these very men that I have felt perhaps the most at home.”

Isabelle reached out, her fingers gently resting on his arm.  She was relieved when Hux did not shy away from her brazen touch.

“Perhaps Syrus said it best: _‘It matters not who you are thought to be, but what you are,’_ ” she said quietly.

The words and truth came rushing out of Hux after that, things from his past which were well-hidden and known to only a few, yet which he could not help but now share.

“The truth is that I am no different from so many of them.  I may have a title, but I am also a bastard, albeit one who has been protected by my family’s influence and secrecy.”

He watched as Isabelle kept her features placid, without a show of judgment or pity, waiting for him to continue.

“I think I might have suspected myself, even when I was very young.  I had my father’s coloring: his copper hair, and the green of his eyes, yet I looked nothing like my brothers or sisters, with their darker coloring and blue eyes."  He hesitated.  "My siblings look the very picture of my father’s wife."

“When I was older, I heard the rumors.  That I was a bastard child, born out of one of my father’s numerous indiscretions, the product of a dalliance with a young scullery maid.  Lady Hux was also pregnant at the time; however she had suffered a miscarriage somewhere around her fourth month, and likely under some degree of duress, covered her loss and accepted me as her son upon my birth.

“I have tried for so long to please my parents--to be accepted despite my birth status, although I remained somewhat of an outsider, to my father, and certainly to the lady of the house."  Hux quickly continued upon seeing Isabelle's frown. "She never treated my cruelly, however I don’t think she could ever see me as anything but a constant reminder of one of my father’s many faults."

“For my entire life, I have tried to please my father, to hold steadfast to his wishes for who he wanted me to be, as if it would add credence to my legitimacy, and justify his decision to keep me as one of his rightful heirs.  But in doing so, I seem to have maintained my loyalties to everyone—my family, my country-- but myself.

“It is one of the reasons why I value my friendship with Ren.  He is one of the few who knows of the circumstances of my birth, yet he has never seen nor treated me as anyone less than himself.  And he reminds me, in so many ways, of my life outside of these confines, of the things which I occasionally hold important to myself.”

They reached the modest but tasteful townhouse where Isabelle was renting an apartment on one of the upper floors, close to the retail stores and coffee house at the end of the street. They stood outside in the cold, their breaths puffing out in faint clouds into the air, visible under the light.

Isabelle was reluctant to loosen her grasp, despite the increasing cold.  She was familiar with the ways of men, and noted the longing and hesitation in Hux’s eyes.  She caught the reluctance in his posture as he bid her good night, his lips pressing to the back of her hand and lingering for a fraction too long.

She had desired the General for as long as she could remember, from the moment Lord Ren had introduced him at Hatchard's bookshop in Picadilly.  The three had headed to Fortnum’s afterwards to pick up some dried fruits and teas, and Hux had treated her with the utmost respect, never once casting aspersions regarding her lifestyle or her relationship with Ren.  He had been so incredibly handsome: his voice gentle yet commanding, his hair neat yet fashionable, his posture so straight and self-assured, with eyes so expressive and of the most beautiful seafoam green that it made her heart race under his stare.

During their occasional subsequent encounters, the young lord had never ceased to be anything but proper and polite.  Even in those few times where Ren had invited his friend to join him and Isabelle for an amorous congress, Hux had declined.  And since Ren had vigorously denied that Hux had a preference for a windward passage, Isabelle could only conclude that her fancy for him was not reciprocated in the least.

Tonight had been magical.  She had not needed to put on a display for show, instead opening up a part of herself to another so rarely seen, even in her relationship with Ren.  Her years of longing surged to the forefront, and when she held fast to his hand, it was not as a coquettish and practiced courtesan, but as a woman freely offering up her heart.

“Would you like to come upstairs, Lord Hux?”

Hux’s eyes darkened.  He had admired her beauty for the longest time, and her wit and knowledge of the world proved an intoxicating combination.  He had never capitalized on his past opportunities to lay with her, as she had previously been involved with Ren.  Yet now she stood before him, her intimate relationship with Ren no more, with her desire obvious in her husky tones and her softly parted lips, her longing for acceptance and love mirroring his own.

 _The happiness which he deserved_.  Ren’s wish for him filled his heart as he gazed at the beautiful woman standing before him.

Hux kept his voice steady despite the thrumming of want which coursed through his body.

_"Je ne demande pas mieux, ma chérie."_

 

  **~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

 

For the second time tonight, Isabelle was grateful that her life until now had freed her from the confines of a husband and provided her with a familiarity of men.  No sooner had they reached the comfortably decorated apartment and Hux divested them of their outer wrappings did she lean in to him gently, her hands on his chest.

The citrusy notes of neroli and lemon mixed with jasmine and sandalwood filled his nostrils and inflamed his senses.  His lips were suddenly dry as the heat from her hands seemed to impossibly penetrate through the various layers of his clothing and to his thundering heart which lay beneath.

They met halfway, tentatively at first, with half-lidded stares and bated breaths, until their lips crashed into one another as all of their yearning and desire melded into that one kiss.  Isabelle’s lips parted as Hux grew more insistent, his calloused hands moving over her silken hair, drawing her closer as he tasted the sweetness of her mouth.

“ _Mon Dieu_ ,” she whispered, pulling back breathlessly, her blue eyes darkening with passion.

Hux watched as her face transformed, her lips swollen from their kiss. Her hair fell in loose tendrils around her face as her chest quickened in its rise and fall.  He traced a line along her bared neck to the décolletage of her gown with his mouth, her soft skin delicious under his tongue. She arched against him, the movement causing her bosom to press against the palm of his hands, the sensation shooting down to his rapidly hardening cock.

“ _Yes_ ,” she breathed.  Hux's hands working more fervently as he slipped the fabric of her dress around her waist.  He shakily undid the string to her corset, freeing her from its bone busk cage, her breasts spilling into his eager fingers as they kneaded the sumptuous flesh beneath.

“You are so gorgeous,” Hux murmured.  “If you only knew how long I have wanted you like this.”

Isabelle pulled back despite herself, his words penetrating through her lust-addled brain.

“My Lord—but you have never—it was not for a lack of opportunity,” she stammered, her usual gracefulness falling apart at her surprise.

Hux blushed under her stare.  “It was not for lack of want, either.  My past denial was not only due to my friendship with Ren.  I knew that if I were ever fortunate enough to be with you, I would want the experience to be unfettered by the presence of others.  That I would only want you, undiluted and absolute.”

Her heart burst at his confession.  Isabelle had always possessed enough sense of self to believe in her own goodness, yet she had not often seen it reflected in the opinion of others, especially in someone as breathtakingly attractive and honorable as Hux.

“ _Fais moi l'amour,"_ she entreated him. " _S'il vous plaît, Armitage._ _Mon coeur.”_

Hux brought his head down, taking a rosy nipple into his mouth, delighting in the way that it peaked and hardened against the movements of his tongue. Isabelle let out a moan as he gathered her further into his mouth, laving the swell of her breast until she was on fire, her skin burning underneath his unrelenting touch.

Hux moved to lower her gown further and she stood, signaling her desire for him to remain still. She stepped back, her eyes never leaving him as she slowly undressed herself for his pleasure, his eyes traveling hungrily down the garment's path as it made its way over the curve of her hips and puddled softly onto the floor. She performed a quarter turn, delighting in the intake of Hux's breath as he took in the sight of her perfectly rounded buttocks underneath her thin chemise, then completely loosened the fastening of her undergarments until they were no more.

Hux watched as Isabelle stepped away from the remains of her clothing and removed the comb which held up her hair.  Her wavy locks tumbled over her shoulders as she stood before him, as beautiful as Boticelli's Venus in all her naked glory.

Hux exhaled as if he were Zephyrus, unaware until then that his breath had been caught while he was so enraptured. His feet moved forward with a will of their own, only stopping when Isabelle shook her head and made him hold his place.  She moved towards him seductively, each sensuous sway of her hips a torturous sigh as his body ached for her touch.

Hux could not help the shudder which ran through him when her fingers finally ran along the lapels of his jacket, their pressure welcome yet not enough. The woolen fabric fell off his broad shoulders with a practiced ease, as Isabelle set to working the buttons on his waistcoat. She followed this next by loosening his shirt, each undone button revealing a growing expanse of Hux's pale skin.

She remarked at his figure as she pulled his shirt overhead.  Hux was lean and lithe, his torso tapering beautifully down to a trim waist and narrowed hips, with a soft trail of reddish-gold down visible above the waistband of his trousers. She undid the buttons to the narrow front, his cock springing forward at its release, long and swollen and beautifully flushed.

It took all of Hux's willpower not to tilt his hips forward and thrust himself against her lips.  When Isabelle finally stepped back after removing his trousers and remaining small clothes, he could wait no longer.  He moved forward with a growl, gathering her into his arms as her body molded itself against his own, and carried her onto the bed.

Hux was consumed by his need and desire, for this woman to whom he bared his body and soul, for a woman who desired him not only as an earl and as a general, but also as a bastard son.  He had hidden himself for so long under the proprieties and the rules of society, and it was a heady feeling to let himself go: to lose himself in Isabelle's scent, in her taste and her kisses, and in the softness of her body as it lay underneath his wiry and muscular planes.

He shuddered as he entered her, sheathing himself in her welcoming warmth, his hips stilling temporarily at the sensation lest he lose control.  She responded by canting her hips, and he began to thrust, pumping his hardness into her slick and smooth walls.

Isabelle's breaths came up in short huffs, her hands reaching behind to grab his buttocks in an effort to pull him closer.  Their hips met, their movements becoming more forceful and uncontrolled, driven by their need to capture something simultaneous and glorious, Hux's grunts punctuated by the mewling sounds which were escaping from Isabelle's throat.

Hux felt her tighten and spasm around him as she called out his name.  It was a cry both breathless and enraptured, her eyes shining bright with her tears.  He could hold back no longer as he gave in to the sensations with a judder, the muscles in his arms and his chest tightening as he spilled his release, his cock emptying into her repeatedly as her name tumbled out from underneath his lips.

They lay next to one another afterwards, their breaths slowing, their sweat cooling, with the lingering scent of their sex in the air.

Hux raised himself on his elbow.  He stared at her visage, wrapping his finger gently around the curl of her hair as he brushed it back and kissed her lips. There was something about their lovemaking which had been so sweet and so right, and yet he could not help doubt and uncertaintly which intruded into his thoughts.

Isabelle watched his slow withdrawal and guarded gaze.

"What is wrong, _mon chéri_?"

Hux took a deep breath, his emotions as naked and exposed as his current physical state.

"Making love to you was incredible, Isabelle. And what we shared earlier this evening, even more so. I find myself indelibly drawn to you, and would welcome the opportunity to know you more, in the best ways between a man and a woman.  As both a friend, and a lover."

He turned his head. "I also know that you have worked hard to make a life for yourself. I do not want to deny who you are, or to take away that which is important to you. But I also know myself, and know that I could not bear the thought of sharing you in the most intimate way possible with another, especially given my past.

"I can only hope for an eventual answer. But if you are ever so agreeable--if you find yourself desiring something of greater permanence than that which your current situation provides, I would like your permission to court you properly."

Isabelle's voice softened, her face suddenly filled with a tentative hope.

"You would consider that? Even with all that you know of me?"

"It is because of what I know of you. Of who you are." Hux nibbled the shell of her ear, the whisper of his breath causing her to shiver.

"What do you say to flouting the unwritten rules of society and becoming the next Lord Berwick and Sophia Dubochet?"

Isabelle's face broke out into a huge smile.  "I live for flouting the rules.  And I would much rather be the next Lord Hux and Isabelle De Montespan."

He turned to her at that moment, trailing feather-light kisses along the curve of Isabelle's back as their fingers entwined, her satiated smile reflecting the contentment and happiness in his own heart.  He lay there happily, memorizing the loose and languid feel of their bodies as they lay next to one another, unable to recall the last time when he had felt so whole.

Hux let out a sudden bark of laughter.

Isabelle turned.  She looked at him archly, affecting an offended look.

Hux grinned.  “I was thinking of Ren.  He is a sly devil. I believe that this,” he waved his hand over their naked and disheveled state, “may have been his plan all along.”

His expression grew serious.  “I don’t know how I will ever repay him.”

Isabelle bit her lip thoughtfully.  It plumped up, and Hux wanted nothing more than to take it between his teeth and lick the redness away.

“He is very much in love as well, _mon chéri_.  Yet he is too proud, and perhaps too scared, to fully act on his desires, and so he remains alone, with only his guarded heart for company.”

Hux stared at Isabelle.  “Who is Ren in love with?”

Isabelle made a clucking sound.  “ _La_ , you men!  Sometimes you cannot see that which is plainly in front of your face.  What do you know of Miss Kenobi?”   

Hux’s widening eyes morphed into a grin as he took in her words.  Isabelle laughed, her chuckles diminishing as she ducked under the covers.  Hux’s expression quickly turned from one of mischievousness to lust as he felt Isabelle's warm and experienced lips taking him in and down to the root of his stirring cock.

He groaned as he felt himself hardening again.  Tonight, he would give to himself.  There would be plenty of time tomorrow to strategize about Ren.

  
 

 


	14. A Night at the Opera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo makes a decision regarding the future of his relationships. It's time to sink or swim...
> 
> [excerpt]:  
> Bazine appeared several minutes later. She swept gracefully down the stairs, resplendent in a simple morning dress of French cambric and covered with an emerald cloak of blossom satin trimmed with lace. A white and red cornelian necklace lay delicately against her bosom, and Kylo caught a faint whiff of wild myrtle as she placed a kiss on his cheek.
> 
> "Lord Ren," she smiled delightedly. "What a pleasant surprise!"
> 
> "Thank you for seeing me, your Grace."

* * *

 

**_Man cannot discover new oceans unless he has the courage to lose sight of the shore_ **

-Philip Stanhope, 4th Earl of Chesterfield

 

The streets were already bustling, the shouts of the costermongers and the coarse language of the indecent cutting through the mid-morning air as buyers milled around the stalls at the hythe in Billingsgate. A harried woman argued with a peddler selling vegetables in the middle of the crowded street, while a caw-handed fellow stumbled over an irate shopkeeper's step, his apologies indecipherable after a night spent drunk as a wheelbarrow and womble-ty cropt.

Hux walked joyfully amongst the boisterous crowd.  The heavy stink of fish and the indiscreet attempts of the jemmy canters did little to dim the beauty of the morning or the spring in his step.

He arrived at the Ordnance Arms later than anticipated, at a quarter past ten. Ren stood, having already started on his repast of toast and a plate of roast beef, accompanied by a tankard of ale.

"Hux," he teased upon seeing his friend's happy expression.  "I apologize for eating without you, but I was beginning to wonder whether you would show.  Busy night?"

Hux grinned, even as a gentle flush spilled out over his neck, the color noticeable along the top line of his cravat.

"Eggs and bacon, and café au lait," Hux requested of their server before answering Ren.  "Busy, indeed," he acknowledged, flashing a rougish grin before his expression grew quiet.

"In all honesty, Ren, I thought my debt to you would be paid by night's end, and yet this morning I find myself to be forever in it."

Ren waved away the sentiment impatiently.

"Hux, you owe me nothing.  Have you forgotten how you have saved my life, in more ways than one?"

Hux added a spoonful of Lisbon sugar to his drink, sighing in pleasure at the piquant flavor as the warmth settled into his stomach.  He spread a thin coating of marmalade on his brioche before cutting into his eggs, keeping his voice low against the clinking of the flatware and the cadence of the conversations taking place in the background.

"Isabelle is an incredible woman.  In many ways you know that, better than I," he admitted, without a hint of reproach. "However, it is not just her worldliness and self-assurance, nor her beauty which proves most attractive. I feel...as if I can trust her.  To trust myself, more correctly, to bare my emotions without being judged unfairly, nor to be deemed inadequate, because of them."

He finished his thoughts with a rush.  "We discussed my relationship with my family last night."

Tawny eyes locked onto green, as Ren looked at Hux from above the edge of his cup.  He understood immediately what Hux was implying, and he also knew that there were very few people who were aware of the scandalous circumstances of his birth.  He patiently waited for Hux to continue.

"As weighty as the revelation was, she took it as nothing more than a matter of fact.  It affected her opinion of me not in the very least.  For the first time in my life, I have the opportunity to pursue a relationship with a woman without carrying the specter of my secret.  And although I cannot predict how things will evolve, I must say that I am optimistic.

"Ren, at the risk of sounding overly sentimental, you have introduced me to the possibilities of romance, and of love.  Of finally leading a fulfilling and complete life.  These are possibilities which I had until now never allowed to wish for my own.  And in this sense, you have saved me as well." 

Kylo lowered his drink, unable to hide his grin.  "It _is_ overly sentimental, Hux.  But I admit that I cannot be happier to hear that two of my closest friends for whom I care so dearly have found true love, and especially with one another."

 _True love_.  He felt a pang and yearning as soon as he spoke those words.

Hux was much too observant to miss the wistful expression which crossed Kylo's face. 

"Isabelle believes that you fancy Miss Kenobi," he said slowly, growing emboldened as Kylo did not deny the statement. "I believe the interest may be mutual."

Ren toyed with the handle of his cup, remaining hopefully silent.

"Rey is a wonderful young woman, Ren," Hux continued.  "She deserves to be happy, as do you.  Will you finally allow yourself, after all these years, to be so?"

Kylo sighed.  "We shared a kiss.  It was a momentary lapse of propriety, on my part," he admitted, closing his eyes briefly.  "But I cannot say that I am sorry to have done so.  It was--well, wonderful."  He nearly blushed, finding a sudden interest in the napkin which lay in front of him instead.

Hux raised his brow at the revelation.  "And after the kiss?  You did not find your cheek on the receiving end of her hand?"

Kylo let out a rueful laugh.  "No.  Luckily, things did not progress further, as we were not in the most private of settings."  Kylo recalled the beautiful pink of Rey's cheeks, the growing wonderment and desire in her eyes, as well as the unspoken invitation to repeat the action on her wet and parted lips.  It was only upon hearing Daniels' formal voice as he greeted another caller that they stopped, preventing the situation from devolving into something even more inappropriate.

"Hmmm."  Hux pushed back his plate, a mischievous glint lighting his eyes.  Kylo's own narrowed suspiciously in response.

"What is going on in that shrewd mind of yours, General?" he asked.

Hux laughed.  "Nothing particularly devious, Ren.  I was just thinking; I have asked Isabelle's permission to court her properly.  I was wondering if you would like to do the same."

He laughed again as Kylo arched an eyebrow.  "You know what I mean, you deviant.  You wooing Miss Kenobi.  Perhaps it is time to make honest men out of the both of us."

Kylo smiled.  "I admit that I am not adverse to the thought.  Although, it may be too late," he added with a trace of bitterness.  "Lord Thanisson has also expressed more than a passing interest in Rey.  I do believe that she has a fondness for him, but to what extent, I do not know."

Hux exhaled.  "Damn, Ren.  I'm sorry."

"She has accepted his invitation to see _Fidelio_ tonight, at Drury Lane.  I will be accompanying them, doing my best not to act like a hell-born-babe."

"Perhaps Isabelle and I may attend as well?" Hux offered.  "To keep you company, and to ascertain with more objective eyes and the benefit of Isabelle's feminine intuition what the young pair's feelings for each other may truly be?"

Kylo brightened at the thought.

"I do believe that I will take you up on your offer.  I will send Mitaka out to procure our tickets for one of the boxes as soon as possible, lest we end up in the gallery with the rest of the rabble." 

 

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

 

The warmer weather and the curiosity regarding another revision of Beethoven's only operatic work brought out the rabble in full force.  Massive chandeliers hung suspended from the ceilings, their candles brightly illuminating the gallery below.  The steady din of loud conversation and the frequent peals of bawdy laughter lent a raucous atmosphere to an already crowded theater.  The audience in the floor seats rarely remained still, some shouting their greetings to acquaintances seated in a nearby aisle, while others eagerly held onto pieces of rotting fruit, the hidden objects ready to become airborne at a moment's notice in response to a particularly offensive performance.  The activities of the those in the pit were even more outlandish, where young men blatantly enjoyed the company of gigglers and women of pleasure, periodically interrupting their activities to gawk at the gentry and aristocracy seated in the public and private boxes above.

Rey scanned the crowd, her body thrumming at the barely restrained energy which seemed at times more befitting of the Bartholomew Fair.  She turned to her right, awarding Thanisson a shy smile as she caught his appreciative gaze. 

Her heart skipped a beat as he returned her smile. She was dressed in a gown of white taffeta, the silver-threaded, gauzy confection trimmed at the hems and sleeves in the finest French lace.  An underskirt of rose satin peeked out below, the subtle flash of color appearing and disappearing with her smallest movement.  Long white gloves afforded her modesty, while highlighting the graceful lines of her arms.

Thanisson’s eyes lingered over the sweep of her cheek; her eyes were luminous behind their softly tinctured lashes and her face framed in loosened curls.

"The light of these chandeliers cannot hold a candle to your beauty," Thanisson remarked.  A flush suffused her cheeks at his compliment, and in that instant, he only had eyes for her as he forgot to lower his voice.

"You take my breath away, Miss Kenobi." 

Rey startled as Kylo scraped his chair back loudly, whipping his gaze around towards the younger male and rewarding him a sharp stare.  Kylo grit his teeth, willing himself to keep his fists by his side and his mouth closed tight, so neither would lash out in response to his sudden jealousy or Thanisson's bold flirtation.

For not the first time tonight, Kylo questioned the wisdom of his decision to chaperone Rey.  In fact, he would prefer to be anywhere else, and in the company of a generous helping of a brandy or two.

Hux cleared his throat, noting his friend's rigid posture.  He threw Thanisson a stern look.

"I believe I speak for myself as well as Miss Kenobi's _guardian_ when I say that we are blessed to be in the midst of such fair company.  Madame de Montespan and Miss Kenobi, you honor us all with your presence tonight."

Thanisson bowed his head slightly under Hux's gentle rebuke.

Kylo turned his attentions to Rey.  His eyes lingered, somewhat mollified as she appeared unaffected by Thanisson's declaration while maintaining an appropriate distance between the two.  She sensed his appraisal as she turned, her hazel eyes widening as she took in his possessive gaze.

The look in Kylo's eyes, so dark and dangerous yet fiercely protective, caused her mind to stutter as she was flooded with the sudden memories of their kiss.  She had relived that moment in her mind many times since, awash with their unequivocal need.  She recalled the gentle surprise in Kylo’s expression as their lips finally met, as well as the reluctance which followed as he retreated, the magic of the moment prorogued by an unexpected visitor in the hall.

Yet she also recalled his kiss with Bazine.  It had been a more practiced kiss, one which spoke of both hunger and familiarity, and one in which she could do little to erase the rememberances of the Duchess' sighs or the images of her hand splayed possessively across Kylo's back on the night of the Winter’s Ball.

"Miss Kenobi?"

The sound of her name broke through her ruminations as she focused her attentions back to the start of the performance and the other occupants of the box.  An older woman – _Madame de Montespan_ , she recalled from their earlier introduction—sat next to Hux.  She was sophisticatedly attired and gracefully poised, with a beauty befitting her experience and age.  Rey noted the way in which the General’s gaze had lingered on the brunette, and the knowing smile which graced his lips as she spoke.  His behavior hinted at an intimate relationship between the two, as he discreetly rested his hand on her own, the woman responding by subtly leaning into his touch.

Isabelle addressed Rey, her blue eyes lively and sparkling.

“I heard that this is your first time at the opera, Miss Kenobi.  What a wonderful treat!”

“Yes.  I was excited when Lord Thanisson suggested it.  I have never heard Beethoven’s work performed,”  Rey smiled.

Isabelle looked at Rey conspiratorially.  “I cannot think of a more well-suited composer for this libretto.  Leonore is a true heroine, a strong woman whose fidelity and passion for her beloved never wavers despite the dangerous circumstances which befalls them both.  It is quite a different perspective of women compared to  _Così fan tutte;_  Mozart’s work also explores the question of a woman’s fidelity, although the heroines in that story eventually fall prey to the machinations and seductions of men.”

"I think that it would be difficult to judge the fidelity of others without knowing the entirety of their circumstances," Rey replied thoughtfully.  "However for me, I find the ideal of the purity of love--of a strong and unwavering bond between two people--to be the most romantic and powerful one of all."  Kylo’s eyes never left her as she spoke, and she stirred uncomfortably, growing increasingly self-conscious under his inscrutable expression and darkening gaze.

"Ahhh, perhaps you have a bit of Leonore in you as well,”  Isabelle replied, smiling. 

The night was magical,  Rey was quickly swept up into the story, her programme forgotten at her side.  The singers’ voices soared along with the difficult and technically nearly impossible composition, as Leonore’s breathtaking soprano cut through the emotion and syncopations and the brashness of the other instruments with her recitative airs.  It was as if the musicians and performers were struggling against the limitations of their humanity in portraying such a staggering work, showcasing the progress of a journey expressed through selfless acts of steadfast love.  And in the denoument, when good finally triumphed over evil as a result of Leonore’s struggle against moumental odds, Rey stood, weeping at the beauty and majesty of it all.

Such sentiments may have raised nary an eyebrow in the seats below, but in the boxes her emotional outburst could have easily drawn gasps of shock or looks of censure.  Thanisson, however, was utterly enchanted at her ingenuousness, his initial shock morphing quickly into a wide grin as the warmth and desire which he felt for her spread even deeper into his heart.

~@~

Their party exited the theater at the end of the performance.  It was a beautiful night; Thanisson remained at Rey's side, eager to continue their conversation, preferably with a modicum of privacy and away from the stern watch of Ren.

Isabelle reached out to Kylo, her fingers resting gently on his arm, leading him forward and ahead of the pair.

" _Non, mon cher_ ,"  she urged.  "It is obvious that the girl has feelings for you.  Yet she is conflicted; you will not win her heart by controlling her actions and limiting her choices. _"_

Kylo reluctantly kept his distance, staying with Hux and Isabelle as Thanisson and Rey fell several paces behind.

"I can't do this," Kylo said, his voice hoarse with frustration.  "I've had to sit there for hours, going horn mad as Thanisson makes moon eyes like a rosy-gilled dimber-cove.  And now you want me to stand aside as he attempts to drive himself deeper into Rey's affections."

"Giving a woman who is used to making her own decisions the opportunity to make the right one is not 'standing aside,'" Isabelle chided.  "I am not saying that you should remove yourself completely from her dance card, only that you do not crowd her space and tread on her toes."

She took in Kylo's mutinous glare, followed by the defeated slump in his shoulders as she added softly. 

"I have seen the way in which she looks at you, when she thinks that no one is watching.  Her face is so very expressive; she is no _femme sournoise_ , with the ability to hide her feelings behind a mask of artifice. I see in her an innocence, and yet a simmering strength and passion, and if what I suspect is correct, I do believe that the young Lord Thanisson, as pleasant and pleasing as he is, will prove to be inadequate for her in the end. Remember: ' _The passions are the only orators which always persuade_.'"

Kylo gave Isabelle a wry look.

"I wonder if de La Rochefoucauld had ever met a woman such as Rey.  Although passion may have a strong place in influencing the direction of her attachment, I doubt that she would allow her life to be defined by a bon mot, as pithy as it may be."

Hux looked at his friend knowingly.

"Ren.  I have seen a hope in you that I have not seen for the past ten years.  It is a hope for the chance at love and happiness, and for a future no longer filled with endless and meaningless dalliances, with only yourself to keep you company in the end.  You need to seize that chance, and in order to do so properly, you also need the courage to let go.

"Let go of your past," Hux continued. "Let Bazine go, once and for all.  Cut the poison out of your life.  It will leave you with a more open heart and a clearer mind, for it is only then that you can properly pursue Rey's affections, without further confusing both yourself and the poor girl."

Kylo thought about his friends' words.  They struck true to his heart. He knew that Bazine wanted more, that she desired a future with him which he was now both unable and unwilling to provide.  Were she to remain in his life, he would be forever tethered to his past, with one foot in the ocean while the other remained on shore.

"I will pay a call to the Duchess tomorrow," he said resolutely, as he looked longingly back at Rey.

By the time the group had reached Mayfair, Thanisson reluctantly took his leave.  The young lord hesitated, still wary of Kylo's looming presence.  He gazed at Rey, admiring her enthusiasm and curiosity, her intelligence and perspicacity, and her candid and guileless nature.  He had started the Season with little hope or even the desire to find himself attached to a girl on the hunt for a husband, and yet he now found himself ensnared, longing for something more than Rey's graceful presence or fleeting touch.

He could, in fact, envision himself proposing by Season's end were she to reciprocate his feelings.

Thanisson inclined his head in a bow as Rey curtsied.  She caught the direction of Thanisson's eyes: how they lingered first on her hand, before moving up to her lips.  His pupils darkened imperceptibly, and she tried to imagine the feel of his mouth if they were to kiss.  She imagined that his breath would be warm and sweet, comforting and chaste, and the thought of it left her with a steadiness and pleasantry in her heart.  As she imagined it more, however, the kiss changed.  It deepened as Thanisson's form grew broader and taller, his light brown hair turning long and dark, his face becoming elongated and scarred, and his clean scent turning sharp with the smell of pine and an overwhelming masculinity which caused her heart to race, filling her with the need to lose herself in his passionate embrace.

She watched Thanisson as he pulled away, her cheeks flaming with unabashed desire as she finally turned around and caught Kylo's covetous stare

 

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

 

Kylo stood in front of the home in Portman Square, its stuccoed exterior, medieval motifs and fanciful Gothic curves reminding him uncomfortably of Ambria House.  A sense of foreboding washed over him as he held his breath and knocked.

He was greeted at the door by Mr. Tarkin.  The  elderly butler quickly recovered from his surprise, restoring the typically inscrutable expression on his pinched and severe face upon seeing Kylo.

"Lord Ren," he greeted, taking Kylo's hat and overcoat.  "Is Her Grace expecting you?"

Kylo shook his head.  "I apologize for the untimeliness of my visit," he said.  It was just after breakfast, too early for a proper morning call.  He had timed his visit purposefully, aware of the probability that his news would be greeted in a most unfavorable fashion, subjecting them both to the _on dits_ of wagging tongues should other visitors be near.

"Mr. Tarkin, I need to speak with the Duchess, if she is available.  It is a private matter, of the utmost discretion and importance."

The elderly man inclined his head.  "I shall see if she is ready for visitors," he replied, leaving Kylo waiting in the entranceway.

Kylo stood, glancing at the expensive furniture and works of art which decorated the walls.  He was filled with the bittersweet memories of a young girl of seven, one who watched him shyly as he playfully sparred, dressed uncomfortably in a faded gown and self-conscious despite her precocious beauty.

Bazine appeared several minutes later.  She swept gracefully down the stairs, resplendent in a simple morning dress of French cambric and covered with an emerald cloak of blossom satin trimmed with lace.  A white and red cornelian necklace lay delicately against her bosom, and Kylo caught a faint whiff of wild myrtle as she placed a kiss on his cheek.

"Lord Ren," she smiled delightedly.  "What a pleasant surprise!"

"Thank you for seeing me, your Grace," Kylo said, as she laughed at his stiff greeting.

"Please, Kylo.  We have known each other since we were children.  Let us dispense with such formalities."  She led him past the dining room and into the conservatory.  The weather was warming and they stood on the porch, overlooking the grounds outside.  The garden beds were already showing the promises of Spring, a riot of small green buds peeking up above the softening grounds, the promise of life following the starkness of winter.

Once they were out of the hearing of Mr. Tarkin, Bazine moved closer, her eyes bright with want.

"I've missed you so much, Kylo," she breathed.  "I have been trying to allow you your time, but London has not been the same without you by my side.  I know that you have been busy introducing your ward to the haute ton.  I hear that she has captured the Lord Thanisson's affections?"

Kylo tried to keep his voice even.  "He has not declared his intentions as of yet, one way or another."

Bazine's eyes narrowed upon hearing Kylo's guarded response.

"Surely, someone with such a novel story, as the newly discovered ward of one of the most eligible bachelors in London, would capture at least one man's interest. And she is at least passably attractive, despite her boyish figure and unbecoming complexion."

"What is considered beautiful by some is not always to others, Bazine," Kylo said meaningfully. "But I did not come all this way to discuss Miss Kenobi's status in society."

"Of course, my Lord," Bazine said, more than eager to drop the subject.  "I would rather talk of the upcoming Masquerade Ball at Vauxhall.  I was hoping we would finally make an appearance together; I have such wonderful ideas for our costumes and dress!"

"I am afraid that will not be possible," Kylo said slowly, his stomach plummeting in anticipation of what lay ahead.

"You are not going, darling?  But you must!  Everyone who is anyone will be there!"

Kylo watched the confusion on her face.  There was no denying that Bazine was objectively beautiful.  Even this morning, with only the faintest hint of color on her lips and pink in her cheeks, her complexion was flawless.  Her lashes were long and lush and her hair shiny and lustrous, peeking out in soft curls from underneath the brim of her cap.  He found his anger and hatred for their past washing away.  He thought it ironic, that he was once again able to appreciate her physical beauty as their relationship was quickly fading into the past, and as she slowly disappeared from his future.

"No, Bazine," Kylo corrected gently.  "I will be there.  But not with you, and not as a couple."

A shocked and hurt look crossed her face.  She rearranged her features into a pout, and looked at him beseechingly from underneath her lashes, the faint sheen of tears pricking the corners of her eyes.  He briefly entertained the notion that they may have even been real.

"I don't understand."

"I was willing to spend time with you, to rekindle our friendship at the very least.  But our relationship has irrevocably changed.  There is too much which has happened, and too much time which has passed.  I know what you seek, and I will never be able to give that to you," he added, imploring her to understand.  "It would be unfair of me to promise, to allow you to hold out hope for something which will never be."

Bazine staggered; her face flushed a deep red.  "Is there someone else?" she whispered, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath.  Her mind screamed as she saw all of her carefully crafted plans come tumbling down.  She was suffocating, her childhood dreams, her lifelong love gone, slipping through her grasp, and leaving her all alone.

"Whether there is or is not is irrelevant, Bazine.  You and I cannot recapture what we have already lost.  We are hardly the same people that we were at eight, or eighteen."

She caught the flash of guilt in his eyes as he spoke.  " _There is,"_ she hissed.  "There _is_ someone else.  I never figured you for a coward, Kylo.  Who is it?  Since you are being so honest with me about your feelings, why don't you tell me?"

Kylo stood.  "I have said all that I needed to say, Bazine.  Despite everything, I still retain some fond memories of our past, and regret that it must end this way."

"It's _her_ , isn't it? Your ward?" she screeched, her features distorted in her fury.  "Perhaps that is where your interests lie--with a slip of a girl, who barely looks to be a woman.  Do her paltry curves and thin form make you hard?  Do you relish the idea of giving someone with the appearance of a mere child a green gown, or mayhap you crave a boyish form, to indulge in sodomy, as a closeted gentleman of the back door?!"

Kylo stopped.  When he turned around, his eyes were cold and unforgiving, and she realized at that moment she had gone too far, and that he was lost to her forever.

"Say what you will of my nature, Bazine, but I will not tolerate such falsities regarding Miss Kenobi.  She is more of a lady than you will ever be. Though you disparage her good nature and appearance, she would never stoop to being such a harridan or evil shrew."

Bazine screamed, heaving a vase at his retreating form.  She clutched at the various objects in her sight, losing herself in the din of the crashing and splintering sounds, contenting herself in the destruction which she set around her as her world and her dreams became quickly destroyed.  Her wailing cries filled the air, and the ache in her heart subsumed all rational thought, until the emptiness was filled with such an anger and hate that her cruelty overtook her hysteria and replaced it with a truly malevolent thought.

She ran upstairs, opening her lock box and retrieved the letter:

 

**_À l'œuvre, on connaît l'artisan_ **

**_Les habitudes ont la vie dure_ **

_**À la prochaine** _

 

A slow smile graced her lips as she read over the words. _Until next time_ , indeed. 

She collected herself, rinsing away her tears and the blotchiness which stained the purity of her face, soothing the mottled skin with a toner of rose water and a beef marrow mask.  She brushed out her hair, restoring its glossiness and sheen with a light application of oils and pinning it back with an ornately jeweled comb.  She chose a half-dress in a rich robin-egg blue, the low cut framing her sumptuous breasts, as the flowing fabric graced the curve of her tiny waist.

By the time she headed out, making her way towards Albemarle Street, everything was artfully arranged to maximize the impact of her stunning looks.  She preened at the appreciative glances she received, subtly acknowledging the open invitation and desire in their gaze as the gentlemen tipped their hats her way.

She knocked on the door to a room at the Grillion's Hotel. Her pride and her confidence were restored, and a hunger for revenge now filled her belly. She heard a rustling and some footsteps inside, and she used the time to loosen her pelisse, lowering the fabric to display the graceful line of her neck and to bare the tops of her shoulders.

The door opened.

"Your Grace. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Bazine smiled seductively, taking in the lust which flashed in the younger man's eyes and his barely suppressed leer. She lowered her voice, forcing him to lean further forward, her sweet breath swirling around them in an enticing caress.

"I am in need of a favor. I have a proposition for you, one which I think will prove most beneficial to us both."

 


	15. The Ties That Bind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bazine and Kylo move one step closer to their goals...
> 
> [excerpt]:  
> "What do you want?" He straightened the hem of his sleeve, keeping his words measured, despite his racing heart.
> 
> "I want you to help me. I need you to make everything go away."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains descriptions of BDSM (mostly DS, but also references to past SM/dub-noncon). I felt that this scene was important for character and plot development, but please heed the tags.

 

 

* * *

 

###  _**Little, vicious minds abound with anger and revenge, and are incapable of feeling the pleasure of forgiving their enemies** _

**-** Philip Stanhope, 4th Earl of Chesterfield

 

Bazine swept through the opened doorway as the young noble stepped aside.  He caught himself as his eyes dipped instinctively towards the delicate line of her neck.  Even after a year apart, the spicy and floral notes of her perfume stirred feelings in him which he had thought long suppressed.

His eyebrow quirked in curiosity and amusement at her unexpected visit.

"The fates must be smiling down upon me on this day, Your Grace. To what do I owe this honor?"

She looked at him coyly from beneath her lashes, a teasing smile on her lips.

"Since when do I need an excuse to pay a call to a dear friend?"

"I am pleased to hear that you still think of me as such.  How long has it been since we last spoke?" He tapped his chin thoughtfully.  "Mayhap well over a year?  You must have been extremely busy; have you been spending your time taking advantage of all the various pleasures which London has to offer?"

Bazine watched the young man carefully. She kept her expression neutral and her speech guarded as she wandered over to the window and gazed out at the street below.

"Quite busy, indeed. The last several months in particular have been--well, eventful and enlightening, to say the least.  In fact, I have discovered that I find certain aspects of _le bon ton_ to be less beautiful and more problematic than most," she added, finally turning around.

"Surely you are not tiring of our fair city so quickly? I thought that you had no further interests in anything which the Continent had to offer."

Bazine's gaze hardened. The young man's face remained pleasantly sociable, but his words were laced with meaning.  A laugh which never reached her eyes trilled from her lips.

"I have no intentions of leaving London!  Verily, I expect that the upcoming months may prove to be deliciously exciting."  She stepped forward, her tone convivial.  "Where better to delight in all the antics of high-flying Corinthians and the foibles of blushing debutantes than in the center of it all? Speaking of which, my sources tell me that there is a young woman who has finally captured your fancy."  She arched her brow suggestively.  "A Miss Kenobi, I believe?"

The young man's eyes lit up briefly. "Perhaps. Although she comes attached with the particularly thorny problem of an overly possessive guardian."

Bazine leaned closer, resting a finger lightly on his chest.

"So I hear."  She caught his look of surprise and laughed.

"You know how hard it is hard to keep secrets in this town, especially when it comes to matters of the heart."

She felt a thrill of excitement as she positioned herself against his hard and youthful body, her soft curves causing him to let out a strangled groan.  She watched him gleefully as he fought to steady his body's reaction to her proximity.

"How fortunate it is then, that our interests lie in the same garden. If we work together, I believe I know of a way in which we can remove that troublesome thorn, leaving your beautiful flower safe for the plucking."

She ran her hand along his back and rested it against the curve of his muscular buttocks, the swelling proof of his arousal palpable as it outlined the front of his breeches.

_“Love goes by haps; Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.”_

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.  “But you forget, my dear.  It has also been writ that ' _Love will not be spurred to what it loathes.”_

"Ahh, but what if it is of a form, not of what it loathes, but of what it truly desires?" she countered.

This time her smile was real, as she stood on her toes and whispered into his ear, filling his head with her devious plan. By the time she had finished, there was no hiding his excitement or his lust. Bazine purred as she felt his cock harden, his smile widening as he acknowledged his willing participation.

She slid down rapturously and took her place as she lay prostrate at his feet.

  

**~@~**

  

The wooden floor was hard against her knees, cushioned with little more than the thin fabric of her gown.  She forced herself to remain still as she tried to ignore the dull ache which seeped into her bones and numbed her heart. 

This would not be the first time that she would subject herself to the hand of a forceful lover.  That ignominious event occurred when she was a young girl of eighteen, torn apart from her childhood sweetheart and taken far away from the moorlands and the mountains and the North Sea.  She had been thrust into a carriage by her furious mother, landing in the province of Silesia after a fortnight of travel at a brutish pace. The cities of her new home held a mixture of Gothic and Baroque architecture, their cupolas and marble columns and soaring towers and spires projecting from the hills which dotted the northern edge of the Oder River basin.  She found it ironic that the region's main resource were its coal reserves; like Anoat, the economy was heavily dependent on mining and industry, but whereas the landscape had previously prevented her family from achieving their social and economic goals, in Silesia it worked to fill the Duke's coffers.

She should have known that a person could never completely escape their past.  It was an aphorism which was widely apparent on the night of her wedding, the consequence of which was that her marriage began to deteriorate before it even had a chance to start.

Her new husband was delicately handsome: blond, not overly tall, with a straight nose and pointed chin, possessive of a slim and lithe figure which was often turned out in the latest fashions.  His eyes were a clear blue, like the color of a mountain lake on a sunny day, but which could quickly turn dark with the changes in his mood.  He valued order and appearances and seemed to exemplify social propriety, but the truth was that his handsomeness hid a particularly cruel and vindictive streak.

She would never forget the change which overtook him that night, when he had placed his fingers inside, a confused look on his face as he searched for that resistance, that breach of tissue which never came.

His face had contorted with anger as he had called her names: _Trollop. Whore. Slut._ He had raised his hand in fury and indignation, and in her shock, she did not think to deny his accusation.  She felt his enmity as his palm lashed across her face, its harsh sting painting an angry blush over her porcelain cheek.

He had grabbed her tightly, his long fingers surprisingly strong as they encircled her hands.  His fingernails dug into her skin, the deepening red crescents decorating her wrists like a grotesque piece of jewelry.

"So you take me for a cuckhold, a fool? I entered our marriage ready to share my titles and my wealth, yet you come to me with nothing more than your despoiled cunt. Do you really think that your deceitful beauty would be enough for me to forget that you have lain in sin, a profligate's cock having already plundered your quim?"

He pushed her face down onto the bed, his breath hot against her cheek.  She nearly retched at its foul and sour smell, so bitter was he in his wrath.  He showered her with none of Kylo's tenderness, and never whispered Kylo's words of love. The tears fell uncontrollably, thick and fat droplets which dampened her sheets, the sullied fabric a reminder of how far she had fallen and all that she had left behind.

Her husband had raised her hips, refusing to meet her gaze as he stared at her from behind. His length hardened against her milky thighs, and she shuddered as he pried apart her cheeks and kneaded the mounds of flesh.  He chuckled darkly as she flinched beneath his unyielding grip, and she couldn't help the gasp which escaped as his thumb pressed up against her furled and puckered hole.

"Ahhh, so perhaps you are not quite as experienced as I thought. Well, if you can't give me your virginity in the way that a wife to a husband should, then I will take it as befits a Cyprian of your nature."

His thumb slowly breeched her opening, and she bit back her hiss as she clenched reflexively around the intrusion.  His voice had taken on a feral quality when he next spoke.

"I hardly fancy taking you dry, even though you are undeserving of my attentions.  The next time I have you, I expect you to prepare yourself for me well in advance."

She cringed at the wetness as he spat, the expectorated liquid running down her crack and dribbling into her bottom and onto her thigh. She screamed at his contemptuous display, until she was suddenly silenced with the thickness of his probing tongue.

She moaned this time, accompanied by a breathlessness as her body reacted to the foreign sensation. Her hips moved with a will of their own, pressing back against his face as he tongued that delicate ring of muscle, lapping at her musky scent, his nose and mouth buried wetly in between her cheeks. Despite herself she felt a dampness seep between her thighs, urging him on as his tongue penetrated her and licked its way inside.

She gasped when he retreated, suddenly empty from the loss.  She regretted it the second the word had slipped out.

_"Please."_

"I knew it," he panted, his voice stuttering in anger. "I knew you would be begging for it, you slatternly cunt."

He was not huge or thick or overly long, but she had cried out at the searing pain which tore through her as he pushed in and bottommed out in one swift movement.  He ignored her whimpering cries, reveling instead in the tight heat which surrounded his prick before he began to rut against her.

He cared not for her pleasure as he plundered her hole, grunting to the sounds of his slapping balls and the ragged inhalations of her breath. He muttered, cursing himself for marrying a  _stupid_   _fucking_ _whore_.  And if the words did not damage enough on their own, he repeatedly smite her flesh, his fingers bruising into her hips until he finally shouted and filled her with his seed.

His release was still spilling out from her abused passage by the time he returned to his quarters.  She lay there alone and shaking in anger, surrounded by the stains of her tears and their sweat and his sex. 

Over the next several years, he rarely took her face to face. The times that he did were when they had tried to conceive, his need for an heir paramount as he was an only son. Yet his opinion of her, ingrained from the start, mired in his shock and disgust at her impurity and what he viewed as a permanent blight on her physical perfection, worsened after their attempts to procreate proved unsuccessful, year after year.

The court doctor who had examined her had proclaimed that she was fit to conceive. Little did he know that she had taken to inserting pessaries of cocoa butter and quinine, and rinsing out the remains of her husband's residue as soon as he left her bedroom to reduce the risk of becoming pregnant with his spawn.

As a result of his utter dissatisfaction, the Duke began to seek the company of other women, as well as that of men. Bazine wholeheartedly welcomed his distance from their bed.  During those times when he deigned to approach her, he let his frustration with her barrenness and their sham of a marriage play out with more frequency, finding more ways to degrade, punish, and mark her, both emotionally as well as in the flesh.   He found pleasure from the welts which arose as she was struck by his cane, and discovered the joys of stifling her cries with a bridle as he wielded the riding crop which he had pilfered from his stables.  He got hard on his cruelty, and at times, she found herself horrified at the spikes of pleasure which accompanied his punishment and her pain.

She tried to accept her situation as penance for the wrongs she had committed. But even though she had withstood him when he had been at his most brutal, there was never anyone to forgive her for her sins, no arms to hold and soothe, no lips to praise, their absence leaving her in the end with only acrimony and regret.  With each passing year she became further embittered, her growing collection of scars mirroring those around her heart, a permanent reminder of everything which she had lost and all the pain and loneliness which she had gained.

She began to plot her escape, her fantasies of revenge renewing her will to live.  She monitored her husband's movements and his assets, posing as a disinterested observer when he discussed his business dealings.  She ingratiated herself with his staff, stirring up whispered suspicions and false sympathies, while building alliances with her new confidantes. After seven long years she had finally found her way out: it had taken the threat of a distant cousin, avaricious and next in line for the dukedom, in conjunction with a fortuitous encounter brought on by her husband's growing carelessness, to win her her freedom

It was more than she could have ever hoped for.  She had walked into his quarters with several of the upper servants in tow and found him naked, coming undone in the arms of his newest lover.

His very young, _thirteen year old, male_ lover.

It had been so easy after that.  Faced with the loss of his title, due to the currency of a delicious scandal as well as his perceived infertility and the physical evidence of his brutality, he was forced to capitulate to a rare divorce with the bonus of a significant financial settlement in exchange for her silence.  By the time she finally returned to England, Bazine was only too happy never to step foot in Silesia, or anywhere on the Continent ever again.

 

**~@~**

 

She had initially thought to retreat back to her childhood home, and to find solace in the familiarity of Marundishire's stark beauty.  Word, however, had reached her that the young Earl of Alderaan remained unwed and unattached, and she found herself a place in London instead.

Bazine had been overjoyed upon hearing the news. She allowed herself the faintest of hopes, of obtaining her 'happily ever after' despite the events of the intervening years.  She was smart enough to know that she could not actively pursue Kylo until her divorce was official; it would be difficult enough to win back his trust and affection, without such additional barriers in the way.  She bid her time, following the gossip which surrounded him as she waited in the wings, believing that the ideal of first love and their deep connection would be enough to win him back in the end.

It was this notion which kept her prayers alive, her plans to seduce Kylo a self-imposed salvation.  Yet through it all, she was starved for human contact, desperate for the feel of a man's loving touch.

She had found the perfect solution one afternoon on Hollywell Street, bumping into him underneath the gilted half-moon sign as she exited the Strand. He was sharp and handsome, and strong and poised.  His youth and masculinity appealed to her vanity, and to her joy she found him both willing and eager to please.

Bazine's new lover was simultaneously horrified and fascinated by the marks in her skin.  Together, they explored the ways in which he could safely overtake her body and her mind, learning the limits of her pain while protecting her fragile trust.  He welcomed the heady role of being her dominant, discovering her need for punishment, while she learned to submit and relinquish control.  He treasured her deeply, always adjusting his needs to meet those of her own.

He even thought himself possibly in love.  At the end of the year, however, her divorce from the Duke had come through. Bazine had parted ways, his heartbroken entreaties falling on deaf ears. When she never responded to his letter, and with the added pressures of trying to find a suitable wife, he had no hopes of ever seeing the Duchess again, much less kneeling on the floor as she was now, in his room and in front of his feet.

 

**~@~**

 

The young man sucked in his breath as he stood over her, scarcely believing his eyes.  Bazine's head remained bowed, although the rigid posture of her shoulders betrayed a lingering defiance.  He could feel her fear--a fear of his considerable physical strength, and of not knowing whether his actions would cause her to bend or break.  It had been too long since she was required to place herself in this position. 

"What do you want?"  He straightened the hem of his sleeve, keeping his words measured, despite his racing heart.

"I want you to help me.  I need you to make everything go away."

She wanted to be free of it all: to be rid of Rey, to forget about her despair upon hearing Kylo's disgust, and to erase her anguish upon learning about the woman who had taken her place in his heart.  She wanted to forget about the dissolution of her marriage, and the disintegration of her family's lofty dreams.  Most of all, she wanted to forget her aching loneliness, a loneliness which suffused her days and which was her only companion at night.

He bent down.  Her body thrummed as his voice lowered.

"What word will you use if you need me to stop?" he asked her huskily.

She didn't want him to stop.  She deserved the pain. She welcomed it.

She needed it.

She shook her head stubbornly.

"Bazine." The hand on her shoulder was gentle yet firm. "I will not proceed if you do not give one to me."

"Caserta," she finally conceded, her shoulders dropping.

He hesitated briefly. "Very well," he said, acknowledging her choice.  He walked behind her, and she felt her world darken as he blindfolded her with the silken fabric of his cravat.

She waited, adjusting to the loss.  She felt herself focusing internally, her ears pricking at the varying sounds:  the rustle of cloth--perhaps the skritching of wool over cotton, the sharp click of a booted heel against worn wood, and the weighty thump of a jacket as it was being thrown onto a chair.

"Stand."

She did so carefully, each extension of her limbs causing her muscles to ache.  She felt him move closer, the heat of his breath now by the nape of her neck.

"Remain still."

She felt his hands skimming her shoulders.  He was far from inexperienced, his movements confident and assured, his long fingers deftly undoing her dress. Her nipples peaked and hardened and she swallowed as he lowered her gown, the thin fabric sliding under the pressure of his hands over the arch of her back, the swell of her buttocks, and the long line of her legs, until it puddled to the ground.

His hands rested on her ankles.  When he next spoke, the heat of his breath tickled the hairs of her cunt.

"You've been a naughty girl, Bazine," he said throatily, as her legs nearly gave way.  "All this hatred towards an innocent girl whom you barely know."

He stood, and this time she could smell the traces of his snuff, whispers of tobacco and menthol mixed with rum.  He cupped her chin, tilting her head towards him as he leaned into her ear.

"You deserve to be punished for your wickedness.  You will welcome what I give you, and if you become disagreeable, I shall give you more.  Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," she nodded.  She heard his intake of breath; he led her to the bed, where she was suddenly upended onto her belly and laid across his knees.

He was gentle with the first, the slap stinging but leaving no trace on her skin.

She wriggled against his palm as he rubbed her gently. He watched her carefully as he dealt the next two, each one faster and harder than the one before, and by the fourth she had hissed when his hand met her flesh, the pain sharp against her pinkening skin.

He paused, caressing her as she caught her breath and fought to silence her cries. His finger dipped into her folds, and she could feel the weight of his self-satisfaction as it returned slick and scented with her desire.

He resumed his efforts, the blows from his open hand crisscrossing both buttocks and across her upper thighs.  She began to writhe, her mouth gasping in a mixture of pain and pleasure.  A rush of warmth pulsated through her, the sensations pushing and pulling in an ebb and flow, causing her to recede from the shackles of her mind.  She welcomed the loss of her cortical control, losing herself in the punishing strength of his hand, the imprint of it now blanched white against her reddened skin, its sting and the sound causing her head to loll.

"Good girl," he breathed as he finished the last blow.  "You were so good, such a good girl," he murmured as she held back her sobs.

He held her afterwards as she shook against him, kissing her abused skin.  He loosened the pins in her hair, running his fingers through her beautiful locks, whispering words of praise and reassurance as a soft sigh escaped from between her parched lips.

He turned her around, her skin sensitive against the sheets as he knelt before her.

"So good.  So beautiful," he choked out as he freed his weeping cock from the confines of his breeches.  He gazed at her body so limp and lax, her pussy swollen and wet between her thighs.

His breath ghosted across her sensitive flesh as her hips arched upwards to chase the movement of his lips. He breathed her in, murmuring words of appreciation as he acquiesced to her wishes, placing his warm mouth on her moist cunt.  His fingers spread her apart as he tasted her, lapping at her scent before tonguing her clit, his other hand moving furiously up and down his cock.

She was lost, adrift in the sweetness of his lips and the insistent probing of his tongue. She bucked against his wicked mouth, her world contracting and then falling apart, shattering into a thousand pieces as she became undone, awash in the flood of euphoric sensations, finally sated, finally at peace.

She heard the distant groan of her lover's release as he painted the sheets with his come.  His lips were soft, her name a murmured caress against her skin as he finally loosened her blindfold and held her tight.

The light was too bright; she squinted as the objects swam in front of her, her mind still caught in a glorious haze.

She allowed herself to float, sighing contentedly, knowing that her lover had given her what she needed.

That he would  _always_ give her what she needs.

It is precisely for these reasons that, when she finally leaves the room on the top floor of the Grillion's Hotel, the Duchess is positive that he will supply her with the tools to be rid of Miss Kenobi, once and for all.

 

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

 

Lord Abernathy, the 2nd Baron of Aquilae, loosened the bottom of his waistcoat as he indulged in yet another seedcake, the rolls of his belly escaping from the confines of the protesting cloth as he leaned forward to address Han.

“I myself am an enemy of the idea of temporary Insolvency Acts,” the elderly Baron replied as he wiped the remaining crumbs into the folds of his napkin.  "Dishonest behavior must pay the price."

Han frowned.  “But how are they to repay their debts if they remain imprisoned?  In this sense, we perpetuate their misfortune.  And in the meantime, Fleet prison is bursting at the seams.”

“And what about the sufferings of the honest creditors?  As Lord Ellenborough mentioned, they suffer injurious consequences as well.  There must be judicial consequence for those engaged in fraudulent behaviors, even as we are alive to the call of true humanity”

“The Act does not apply to those debtors who engaged in their wrongdoing with the intent to deceive.  But for those who find themselves indebted through bad luck, bad judgment, or things otherwise beyond their control, it would make more sense to repay their creditors through an equitable distribution of their current and future assets, as overseen by the Commisoner.”

Leia’s gentle voice broke through.  “The Insolvency Act would seem a much more reasonable solution, my Lord.  The way things are now, we leave these poor souls to the mercy of their creditors, with a choice of remaining imprisoned for life, or exchanging their liberty for their properties.  The current situation hardly lends itself to honesty or reformation.  I, for one, am in favor of second chances.”

Their discussion was interrupted as Daniels appeared at the doorway, with Kylo by his side.

"Lord and Lady Organa-Solo.  Mister Kylo is here to see you."

Lord Abernathy stood, a jovial smile on his face.  “Ren!  You’re looking well!  Would you like to add your opinion on the Insolvency Bill?”

Kylo tilted his head, answering with an enigmatic smile.  “I believe that everyone should be given the opportunity to correct their mistakes, and am in favor of granting them not only a second chance, but the proper support to do so.”

Lord Abernathy turned to Han, chuckling.  “ How did you turn out such a handsome and strapping lad?  And with a bleeding heart.”  He faced Ren.  “Be careful, lest the ladies take advantage of you.  I am surprised that you have yet to be tied down to a beautiful wife, with several sons and daughters scampering about your feet!”

Ren nearly snorted as Leia suddenly coughed and Han let out a laugh.

Lord Abernathy's expression turned thoughtful.  "My sister-in-law has a distant cousin. The Honorable Emma Lowery.  She is currently unattached, despite the seeming preponderance of well-matched suitors.  It is driving her parents mad. I assure you that she comes from a very fine family. Perhaps you would like to make her acquaintance?"

Kylo smiled. He was well familiar with the Lord Lowery's lovely daughter.  Abernathy was correct; Emma Lowery could easily charm half of the eligible men of the ton into proposing a lifetime commitment given her charismatic beauty and her quick wit.  Unbeknownst to her family, however, she was also hopelessly enamored with the fairer sex.

"Ahh. I am not only acquainted with the enchanting Miss Lowery, but I am honored to consider myself a friend. However, the heart often has a mind of its own, and I find that mine is currently indisposed given my affections for another," he added with the proper reluctance in his tone.

The excited glint left Abernathy's eyes.

"Ahh, well, much luck to you and your new lady then, Ren, although I doubt you will need it," he said, sounding disappointed. "If you think of anyone who may be suitable for Miss Lowery, I would appreciate any assistance. It would keep my wife and her sister duly occupied!" he added, looking every bit the part of the tortured and befuddled husband.

He glanced at his watch.  “I have taken up quite enough of your time.  Lord Organa-Solo, I shall see you at the next session.  My Lady.  Ren.”  He bowed as he bid them adieu.

Kylo came forward and gave his mother a kiss as Daniels showed Abernathy to the door. She watched him closely as he settled his long frame in the now unoccupied chair.

“Kylo.  You mentioned--that you have feelings of affection for another?”  The words came out in a rush, and there was no hiding the hopeful gleam in her eyes.

“Yes.  That is the reason why I wished to speak with you and Father today.”  He hesitated momentarily.

“Father, I was hoping that you would request guardianship of Rey, and to be appointed as such by the Court of Chancery.”

Han frowned at the surprising request.  “Kylo.  The young girl has experienced tremendous upheaval in her short life, including one which you had brought upon yourself.  Just because you find yourself busy chasing after another lightskirt does not mean that you should abscond from your responsibilities to the young lady.”

Kylo reigned in his retort.  His father was always so quick to presume the worst of him, although he had to admit that he had not given his family much reason to think otherwise.  He took a deep breath.

“You are correct in your assumption that the reason I am requesting this of you is because of my feelings towards a woman.  But that is because the woman in question is Rey.”

He saw his parents simultaneous looks of confusion and elation at his news.

“You know of Rey’s history.  She has no known family, at least in England, and there is no known will.  Although she was under the care of Plutt, he was never nominated as her guardian by the Court, and being over the age of fourteen, she was able to agree on her own to my claim of the post.  I entered into our agreement with the intent of honoring my responsibilities over the next three years."

He bit his lip, the fullness swelling under the pressure of his teeth.  A flush appeared on his cheeks, at his next admission.

“I—I never thought that I would find myself enamored with her.  I never believed myself capable of feeling that way about another woman, ever since I foolishly believed my heart to be irreparably broken by Bazine.  But I find myself quite besotted, for many obvious reasons, and seek the opportunity to court her properly, to see if she welcomes my affections in return.

“I cannot do so, and be a proper guardian for several reasons.   First, because I am only human, and know that I possess a jealous heart.  I would not be the only contender for her companionship, and cannot guarantee my objectivity in agreeing to her eventual choice.  I also know that with the current state of her guardianship, without an appointment by the Court of Chancery, she would never be able to be married by license, only by banns.

“If I were fortunate enough to win her heart, I would want our marriage to be seen as binding and legitimate.  Not only in our own eyes, but also in the eyes of the court and of God.”

Leia’s eyes were suspiciously bright.  Han leaned forward.  When he spoke, his face was could not hide his pride or love.

"You would not be the only fortunate one in the relationship, my son."

“Have you spoken of any of this with Rey?” asked Leia.

Kylo shook his head.  “I wanted to ask your permission first.  Although I must admit, I had a feeling that you would both be quite agreeable,” he added with a cheeky grin.

Leia leaned forward, taking Kylo’s hand.

“Oh, Kylo.   Rey is an incredible woman.  She is already such a part of our family, and I could not think of anyone that I would wish for you more.”

“You know the Solo males have always had a talent for attracting the most beautiful and competent women,” Han teased his wife with a devilish look in his eye.

There was a crash out in the hallway, followed by the rustling of silk and some very unladylike muttering.

“Come on in here, Phasma,” Kylo laughed.  “I see you hiding behind that door.”

Phasma ran in, enveloping her brother in a fierce hug.  “It’s about time, you mutton monger!  Imagine that!  You and Rey!"

She babbled on excitedly, unable to contain her enthusiasm.

"Perhaps I can assist in the preparations for the wedding.   I happen to know an excellent tailor of men’s pants!”

Kylo laughed again, the warm sound filling the room as he allowed himself to bask in his family's glow.

"One step at a time, Phasma.  I haven't even informed Rey of my intentions as of yet."

"Pish posh."  Phasma waved her hand airily.  "I have eyes, and I know you both.  If your feelings aren't reciprocated and the two of you are not engaged by Season's end, then---I'll never utter another inappropriate word again!"

Kylo sniggered at the utter impossibility of such a task.

"Don't tempt me, Phasma.  As my sister, you are supposed to encourage my good decisions, not dissuade me from them," he said as drew her in for another hug.

There was a delicate cough at the doorway as they all laughed.

"Lady Organa-Solo, it is approaching half past four. Would you like for us to set afternoon tea in the drawing room?" Daniels asked.  There was the hint of a small smile settling about his usually proper face.

"Tea?" Leila looked at her husband and her two children.  Her love for them bubbled and fizzed.  Life was light and sunny, effervescent, and delightfully bright.

"Not today, Daniels.  Why don't you ask them to set out some champagne instead." 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shakespeare quotes: 'Much Ado About Nothing' – Act 3, Scene 2, and 'The Two Gentlemen of Verona' – Act 5, Scene 2


	16. Masquerade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spring brings along with it new beginnings and some flights of fancy...
> 
> [excerpt]:  
> Kylo grabbed Rey, turning her around. His eyes flashed wildly as they reflected the sun's setting light.
> 
> "You impetuous, magnificent thing," he said fiercely, his voice trembling with his anger and desire. He drew her into his arms, holding her tightly as he murmured his relief.

* * *

 

**_Truth, but not the whole truth, must be the invariable principle of every man who hath either religion, honour, or prudence.  Those who violate it, may be cunning, but they are not able.  Lies and perfidy are the refuge of fools and cowards._ **

-Philip Stanhope, 4th Earl of Chesterfield

 

"How may I assist you, Your Grace?"

"I wish to purchase some gallic and acetic acid. A drachm of each, please."

The young man nodded, pulling the requested ingredients from the shelf.  He placed a glass phial on the scale.  Dropperfuls of the colorless liquid slowly filled the vessel, the two brass plates lifting and descending until they leveled out at the appropriate weight.

Bazine watched his hands as he worked.  His fingers were dexterous and steady as he continued to scoop and measure, chop and pour.

"Will there be anything else which you require today?" he asked, coloring slightly under her appreciative gaze.

"I also need some iron sesquichloride.  Preferably in its tinctured form."

The apprentice's face fell. “We do not have the tincture, but I could make one for you. It should be ready in a fortnight.”

Bazine’s face hardened fractionally.  “Oh, how very disappointing,” she remarked as she smoothed her expression into a pout. “I was hoping to have it sooner, although I suppose two weeks will have to do.”

"How much do you need, Your Grace? I could prepare it now, and have it delivered as soon as it is ready."

"Three ounces, if you would. And although I am flattered by the generosity of your offer, I would prefer to leave with the preparation today."

The young man carefully removed a small amount of the iron powder before mixing it with a rectified spirit.  The resulting solution turned a bright brown, letting off a subtle, acidic smell.

“You must take care to avoid the extremes of heat and light,  It is incompatible with alkalies and tannins, and do not forget to shake the container periodically, to maximize the extraction."  He frowned as he decanted the mixture into a bottle.

"Forgive my impertinence, Your Grace.  But this is nearly a gill of iron.  There are significant side effects which may be suffered with high doses of the compound; not to mention the risk of fatality.  Are you sure you require this amount?"

Bazine let out a soft laugh as she considered his words.

"I appreciate your concern," she replied, giving him an enigmatic smile. "But I assure you that I am familiar with both the use of, and the precautions necessary to handle, such an ingredient.”

Over the next two weeks, Bazine bided her time, watching over the solution and following his instructions with the utmost care.  She added the acids once the tincture was finally complete, delighting at the result as the concoction turned an inky black.

 _Perfect_ , she thought as she held it to the light.  It swirled around, a thick obsidian as dark as the purpose for which it was made.  She sealed the container, storing it in a velvet-lined, brass-bound box, where it would safely remain until the time came for its intended use.

 

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

 

For the second time that afternoon, Rey closed her book and sighed.  The house was uncharacteristically quiet.  She had declined Phasma's entreaties to accompany her on the latest round of social calls, choosing to use the time for self-reflection instead.  After several hours, however, the allure of solitude wore thin, and Rey found herself longing for the animated chatter and frenetic energy which so often filled the home.

She stepped outside, delighting in sun's warmth and the delicate fragrance of the magnolia's growing bloom.  The sweet floral notes danced in the brisk air and she closed her eyes, inhaling its ethereal bouquet.  She startled as the delicate offerings of the young blossoms were suddenly overcome by the smell of vertiver grass and an earthy, pine scent.

"There is little in the world which can compare with Spring's fecund beauty."

"Indeed, My Lord."  She turned.  Kylo was watching her softly, his lips drawn into a smile.  "I find myself quite enamored by her splendor today, despite the lingering chill."

"Indeed,"  Kylo hummed in agreement.  They stood together in companionable silence, listening to the chattering of the starlings as the flock wheeled about.  Rey followed their movements in delight, entranced by their ever-changing patterns as they swooped powerfully through the sky.

Kylo stole a look at his watch.  "I know of a place, if pretty blooms and preening birds are what you seek."  He glanced at the thinness of her cotton morning gown and pelisse.  "I will be waiting out front.  Please have Jessika dress you in something warm,"  he added, grinning at her excitement as she retreated up the stairs.

"What do you think Mister Kylo has planned?" asked Jessika as Rey flopped impatiently onto the bed.

"He did not say."  She raised her arms, wriggling as the brunette helped her out of her gown.  The prospect of a mysterious adventure made her feel like a child awaiting a treat.  "Although he did mention something about flowers and birds."

Jessika peered out the front window.  A pair of perfectly matched thoroughbreds stood hitched to the high-flyer, their black coats glossy in the sun.

The abigail smiled.  She returned to the closet, selecting a cream-colored kerseymere dress followed by a short-waisted, red woolen jacket and a matching Leghorn hat.  She smoothed the folds her mistress' skirt, nodding her approval as she took in the outfit's bold color and complimentary form.

"Ahh, Miss Kenobi.  The people of the fashionable hour will not be the only ones unable to take their eyes off you," she said with a wink.

Rey blushed, Jessika's words ringing in her ears as Kylo assisted her up the ladder and onto the highly suspended seat.  They set forth, weaving their way through the crowded streets, perched high above the bustle and the din.  The throngs of pedestrians and the parade of carriages often hampered their progress, as peddlers with their wagons, bakers with their baskets, and coal-heavers with their shovels shared the narrow lanes with beggars and aristocrats alike.

Rey's breath hitched as she watched a drunkard stumble into a lady wearing a fur-trimmed gown.  As the clumsy male mumbled his apologies, a slight figure stole out from the crowd.  He quickly tested her husband's pockets and cut his purse, retreating back into the masses with his ill-begotten loot.

If Kylo noted the familiarity of the bulk and file, he made no mention of it.

"You need to be careful, Rey,"  he warned gently.  "Each day brings with it an increasing number of thieves and rogues who prowl the streets."

Rey's voice faltered.  "That boy.  He was so young."  She closed her eyes as she envisioned how his loose and tattered clothing hung on his scrawny frame.  "He looked to be of the same age as I..."  She looked down at her leather clad hands.

"It was not that long ago that I would have been considered part of that mix," she finished softly.

Kylo gave her a reproachful look.  "Yet you are not.  Whatever your sympathies, you are now considered one of the well-off and the well-dressed, and prime for the nailing.  The streets are filled to the brim with the desperate and the unscrupulous, and their numbers only continue to grow by the day."  His voice took on an air of urgency.  "Promise me that you will always remain on your guard."

Rey nodded.  She knew first hand of the depths people could stoop to when there was nothing left to lose.

The phaeton wound its way to the park, the noise of the streets slowly morphing into an explosion of color as nature and human vanity put on a glorious show.  A carpet of bluebells blanketed the verdant grounds while the narcissi showed off their pendulant blooms.  A cavalcade of custom-painted carriages rumbled sedately down the bridle path, driven by bewigged coachmen, each one more flamboyant than the next.   Those who did not have the means for such a ride displayed their assets through their dress: young bucks and debutantes clothed in the latest fashion, striving for the proper deportment as they ogled the generous display of equine and human flesh.

A peal of laughter rang through the air as another carriage passed on their side.  The driver captured Rey's attention as she guided her horses and the barouche with a deft touch.

Kylo keenly observed the flicker of interest in Rey's eyes.  "The suspended seat of the high-flyer makes more difficult to drive," he remarked.  "But you are certainly welcome to try."

She bestowed upon him a grateful smile as she grasped the reins.  Kylo's large hands settled comfortably alongside her own as he guided her movements, the thoroughbreds adapting quickly to the change in command.  He shifted closer in the narrow seat, and her cheeks turned pink from the press of his leg as much as they did from the phaeton's increasing speed.

"Rey." Kylo spoke softly, and her heart quickened at its gentle tone. 

"Yes, My Lord?"

"I need to speak with you.  Specifically about our current arrangement, as it relates to your guardianship."

A confusion and panic welled up inside her at his words.  "My guardianship, my Lord?" she asked with a squeak.

Kylo nodded.  "When you became my ward last summer, I never followed through with the Court of Chancery.  Without their approval, any future marriage would not be sanctioned by the Court."

She frowned, unable to hide the bitterness in her voice.  "I find it disconcerting that the Court would have more interest in the matrimonial status of an eighteen-year old woman than in the welfare of an orphaned child.  Their approval means naught to me."

Kylo raised an eyebrow at her sharp tone.  "The Court's intentions are well-meaning, even if the ability to carry out their decisions is regrettably lacking.  It is also more than an issue of marriage.  The status of your guardianship would be subject to greater challenge, as it currently stands."

Rey grimaced.  "Forgive my impertinence, my Lord.  Of course, I shall agree to whatever must be done."

Kylo nodded, relieved.  "I have asked my father to petition for your guardianship in my stead.  The Marquess is not without considerable influence; his peerage and reputation would do much to hasten to process."

He watched her intently.  He raised his hand, the back of his fingers gracing the gentle curve of her cheek.

"There is also another, more personal reason for my request," Kylo admitted.  "When you agreed to come back with me to Caserta, my life was forever changed, in more ways than one.  I--"

"Bloody Hell!" Kylo swore as the horses suddenly shied, tilting the high-flyer dangerously to its side.  He quickly pulled on the reins, murmuring his assurances to the excited team as he pulled Rey close to his side.

There was a loud clattering as an ostentatious Tilbury rushed by.   The carriage had been modified to be pulled by a pair of matched bays, and its aggressive curves reeked of its dangerous speed.

The owner was dressed in an ankle-length coat striped in a garish combination of yellow and blue.  He peered out over the head of his liveried groom, his full lips curling into a sensuous smile as he spied Rey.

"Miss Kenobi," Sir Tyran drawled.  "Once again, your beauty far outshines all which surrounds you."  His eyes insolently raked over her form before acknowledging Kylo's furious stare.

"Ren."

"Sir Tyran," Ren responded coolly.  "I wish I could say that good breeding brings along with it good taste, but alas..."  He waved his hand, smirking as he took in the younger man's appearance.  "In truth, your coat would put even the overelaborate display of the peafowl to shame."

"It is a well-known fact that peahens favor an ornamented train over one which is damaged and weak," Sir Tyran sneered as his eyes settled on Kylo's scar.

"The only frailty which I detect around here is that of a weak chin." Ren retorted.  "How has yours recovered, by the way?"

Kylo huffed as Tyran affixed him with an angry glare.  By now the carriages had come to a complete stop, and a crowd was gathering by their side.

Rey sucked in her breath as her eyes darted back and forth between the two men.  She thought quickly, batting her eyes innocently as she turned towards Tyran. 

"No woman I know would wish to be equated with a peahen," she said, her voice deceptively sweet.  "And as for character, I prefer to look beyond such superficial displays.  As a wise man once said, _Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars._ "

Tyran's eyes flashed dangerously as he turned towards Ren.

"I see that your ward not only manages your driving, but your sparring as well.  Perhaps she is in need of someone with a firmer hand, given her outré behavior."  He paused, before adding lasciviously.  "Unless she enjoys her current position as an entry on the ledgers at White's."

A mixture of amusement and scandalized fascination rippled through the crowd.

"Only a weak man would view the strength of a woman as an undesirable trait," Rey spat.  She ignored the warning signs as temper won out over common sense.  "Would you care to match your driving skills against those of a mere girl?"

Sir Tyran's eyes held a wicked gleam.

"Be careful what you wish for, Miss Kenobi.  I warn you, if you truly wish to be tested as an equal, I will not hold back.  Do you honestly think that you can best a man, and a Whip to boot?"

Kylo leaned over worriedly.  "Rey.  Think about this.  The carriage--it's height makes it an unstable ride at higher speeds.  You do not have much experience in handling such a rig, and should one of the horses lose their footing, both--as well as the high flyer with us in it--will be easily brought down."

"I would never do anything to harm either of our reputations!" 

"And I could care less for the petty tittle-tattle or grumblings of a gizzard!" Kylo bit back.  "Do you honestly think that is what I worry about?  It is for your safety and well-being that I have my greatest concern!"

"As do I, my Lord." She lowered her voice, her hazel eyes pleading for his trust.  He watched her carefully, before sighing and acquiescing with an imperceptible nod.

The pair of phaetons made their way to the lamp-lined stretch.  Tyran leaned forward eagerly, his tall and broad frame poised from the start.  Upon the signal the horses flew, their nostrils flaring and ears flattening as their strides grew.  The tan bark flew behind their flying limbs, and the rumble and crunch of gravel underneath the carriages' wheels echoed through the park along with the bystanders' shouts.

The horses lunged as they neared the end of the mile-long stretch.  Tyran cracked the whip, causing the bays' eyes to roll as the tilbury careened dangerously under their strain.  The  Arabians lengthened and pushed, their black coats shiny with their sweat.  Rey longed to give in to the Arabians' desire to let completely loose, yet she feared for the bays' safety at such a punishing pace.

They were running neck and neck, and Rey heard Tyran's desperation as he swore underneath his breath.   At the last moment Rey tugged back gently on the reins, ensuring that the high flyer's profile would match that of the tilbury's at the very end. She watched as Tyran slammed down his fist in frustration, and a roar of disappointment flashed through the crowd.

"Miss Kenobi!"

Lord Thanisson was waving frantically, his eyes lighting in delight.

She graced him with a brilliant smile.  He stepped forward, readying his congratulations until her visage was suddenly blocked by Kylo's tall frame.

Kylo grabbed Rey, turning her around.  His eyes flashed wildly as they reflected the sun's setting light.

"You impetuous, magnificent thing," he said fiercely, his voice trembling with his anger and desire.  He drew her into his arms, holding her tightly as he murmured his relief.

Rey closed her eyes, the noise of the crowd disappearing as she fell into the safety of Kylo's embrace.  She sighed as she breathed him in, unaware of the hurt which lingered in Thanisson's eyes or the humiliation which settled on Tyran's face.

 

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

 

The hanging lanterns twinkled from the trees, turning the long, sweeping avenues of the Ranelagh Gardens into a fairy tale setting.  A trove of bawds and prostitutes traversed their paths, consorting with harlequins and pierrots as their dissonant songs filled the night.

"That must be Lord Wexley," Phasma whispered.  She pointed to a male dressed in the habit of an abbess, his blond curls peaking out from beneath his white guimpe.  His lips and cheeks were rouged, and he was leering in a decidedly sinful manner at the bare-breasted Aphrodite who stood near his side.

Rey laughed as she remembered the playfully flirtatious man from the Winter's Ball.  He was not alone in his indiscretion; many of the guests were taking advantage of their hidden identities and the copious amounts of arrack punch to flaunt the rules of convention.

A cloaked figure brushed past Wexley, catching her eye.

Kylo had eschewed the fanciful costumes which adorned many of the dandies in favor of a domino and mask.  The bahoo and the cloak were constructed from the blackest satin, its unembellished material gleaming under the lights.  It billowed and swirled with his every movement, and despite its otherwise unadorned nature, he made a statement in a bejeweled crowd.

As if aware of her perusal, he stilled.  His head tilted and turned, his lips curling up into a saucy grin.  He lifted his glass in her direction before heading towards a couple dressed in matching Turkish silks.

The woman's semi-sheer fabric fell enticingly over her décolletage.  Her thick auburn locks were gathered into a thick braid and threaded with jewels, her eyes rimmed heavily in kohl.

He pressed a kiss upon the woman's hand.  "You look exceptionally lovely tonight, Your Highness.  The Sultan is indeed a lucky man."

The male laughed, his green eyes flashing in agreement.  His heavily brocaded robe was adorned with a gold metallic trim, and a matching turban sat atop of his head.

"Ren.  How were you able to guess?"

Kylo snorted.  "Besides the fact that I have known you for nearly twenty-five years?  There is no mistaking that hair."

Hux's hand darted up ruefully as he tucked away the tell-tale strands.

"Yes, well, there's not much to be done for it.  Aside from blackening it, which Isabelle resolutely refuses to let me do."

"Of course I did.  Why should you mar such handsomeness for just one night?  _Vous êtes parfait comme vous êtes, mon chéri."_ She reached out and squeezed his hand, her brown eyes filled with love.

Hux squeezed back, catching the look of longing on Kylo's face.

"Have you spoken to her yet, Ren?" he asked softly.

Kylo shook his head.  "I just received word that my father's petition was approved by the Court."

Hux looked at Ren quizzically.  "Well, what are you waiting for then?  Go ahead and declare your intentions to the girl.  Surely, there is no better time than the present."

Kylo laughed.  "A masquerade ball in a pleasure garden with hundreds of society's most vicious gossips is hardly the forum I was envisioning to profess my affection."

"You have waited to find love for so long, My Lord," Isabelle urged.  "The night is filled with magic.  Do not put off your happiness for any longer, for both of your sakes."

He took a deep breath, gazing at his drink.  The burgundy liquid swirled as he rotated the glass, dripping and clinging to its sides.

He glanced back to where Rey had stood, only to find that she had gone, replaced by a soubrettish Columbina and several Innamorati.

"To happiness, and new beginnings," he whispered, draining the last dregs as he set off to find his love.

**~@~**

 

"I know you.  Do you know me?"

The man's breath tickled against the shell of Rey's ear.  He smelled of comfort, like the sweetest honey and the freshest of soaps.

Rey turned, the beading of her ghagra choli and the rows of her bracelets tinkling as she moved.  She peered at the male, his tall figure clad in a long black coat with a row of silver buttons side, the ruffles of his sleeves spilling out from beneath the cuffs.  A pair of brown eyes danced from underneath his pirate's mask.

"I believe I do.  It is a pleasure to see you here tonight, Lord Thanisson."

"The pleasure is all mine.  You look exquisite, Miss Kenobi.  A gem in any Maharaja's crown."  He took her hand.  It was uncovered, and he brought the bared skin gently to his lips.

Rey felt the softness as his mouth skimmed her flesh.  Its warmth flowed through her, like a friendly embrace.

He watched her expectantly, looking for the dilation of her pupils, or the quickening of her breath.  His face fell in resignation when neither came.

"My Lord--"

"You are in love with another."  The words came out not as a question, nor an accusation, but as a matter of fact.

She lowered her eyes, silent in response.

"Rey."  He lifted his hand to her chin.

"Although some may consider it déclassé, when I entered this Season, I hoped to find a woman who would challenge my heart as well as my mind.  A woman whom I could love fully, and who would hopefully love me in the same way in return."

He dropped his hands to his sides.  "When I met you, you captivated me with your beauty and your wit.  It would seem that you have everything which I seek, except for the inescapable fact that your heart was already taken by another."

Rey opened her mouth to protest but stopped.  She would not debase Thanisson's brave admission with a lie.

"You deserve to have a marriage based on love, Rey.  As do I."  He smiled valiantly, his eyes filled with regret.  "I hope you understand that I can no longer continue to court you.  But it is my heartfelt wish that we remain friends."

"I would like that very much, My Lord," Rey responded, her heart breaking at his kindness.  "Whoever wins your affection in the end will be the luckiest woman, indeed."

They strolled along the canal, the water gently lapping and reflecting the pavilion's lights.  A tall figure darted out of the periphery, his black cloak fluttering out from behind him as he scanned the crowd.

"Excuse me, my Lord."

Thanisson frowned. "It is nearly the midnight hour.  Are you not attending the unmasking?"  He followed her gaze, noting how it softened as she followed the larger male's movements.

He smiled in understanding.  "Be careful out there, Miss Kenobi.  Not all of Ranelagh's pathways are well lit; there may be quite a number of couples who seek the darkness for their romantic assignations tonight."

Rey smiled, squeezing his hand gratefully.  "Thank you, My Lord.  For everything."

Rey walked quickly, her cuffs jangling as the lights from the party progressively dimmed.  She trailed quickly after Kylo's retreating form, panting as she attempted to gain on his large strides. 

Kylo stilled as he heard her approach.  He stood, tall and powerful, his raven locks spilling down to his broad shoulders, his face shadowed behind the moon's pale light.  He looked around quickly.  The music played in the distance, with no other voices to be heard.

He strode forward to bridge their distance.  A strong prickle of fear washed through her as his fingers grappled onto her bare skin.  The edges of his cloak dug into her, marking her with its ornate trim.  He crooked his arms, holding her tightly against his broad chest, and her heart clenched as she was overwhelmed by the unfamiliar scent of sandalwood and musk.

Rey opened her mouth to scream, gagging as his large hand swiftly covered her mouth. 

"Continue to fight me, Miss Kenobi," the man whispered as he held her from behind.  "And I will show you just how much I can enjoy breaking your spirit."

She twisted against him, horrified as his body hardened in response.  She reared back, drawing up her knees and kicking out at his shins until he nearly dropped her in his surprise.  She took advantage of his temporary confusion to claw at his face, feeling a dark satisfaction as her nails sank painfully into his flesh.

"You miserable bitch!" he snarled, wheeling her around as she triumphantly pulled at his mask. 

Her mouth dropped open at his exposed visage as the mask fell onto the ground.  His golden eyes were hard and cruel, his skin smooth but for the marks recently left by her hand. His nose lay straight and his cheeks high, and his hair was as unnaturally black as the starless night.

The man's full lips turned up into a sneer as he saw the dawning recognition in her eyes.

"We meet again, Miss Kenobi," he laughed mockingly as Rey stared into the face of Sir Tyran.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -The quotation is from Khalil Gibran . It is considerably later than the Regency period, but it was too apt to pass up <3  
> 


	17. Unmasqued

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here it is. The chapter that 99.99% of you were waiting for ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> [excerpt]:  
> He dropped the washcloth back into the bowl and set it to the side. He brought his hands back, his fingers tentatively tracing the margins of her abraded skin, needing to feel her, reluctant to let go.
> 
> She stilled his hand. Her fingers gently curled around their trembling lengths, and she raised his palm until it rested against the softness of her prettily flushed cheek.
> 
> "Rey," he groaned. She turned into him, soothing the roughness of his hands with a gentle brush of her lips. His body hummed with desire, its intensity spreading from the depths of his chest and stealing his breath.

* * *

 

_**I possess so much, but my love for her absorbs it all. I possess so much, but without her I have nothing** ._

-The Sorrows of Young Werther, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

 

Rey stared at Tyran's visage, his masculine beauty twisted grotesquely by his cruelty. As his lips curled into a mocking leer, she wondered how she could have ever made such an egregious mistake. Although they both shared a strong nose and full lips and eyes of the same shade of mercurial gold, the vindictiveness with which the young noble delighted upon seeing her distinct disadvantage would never have befouled the Earl of Alderaan's face.

Rey winced as Tyran tightened his iron-clad grip, restraining her against his broad chest.  He breathed harshly as he adjusted himself between her legs, and there was no mistaking the hardness which suddenly pressed up against the back of her thighs.

"Why?" she whispered.  She clenched her fists, refusing to give him the satisfaction of her tears. 

She let her question linger.  It wavered in the night, like a plaintive plea.  The answer came in the shape of a figure which emerged from behind the trees.  Its features were hidden behind the lengthy shadows, soaked in the cloying scent of wild myrtle, and enveloped by the swish of rustling silk.

"I am surprised that you have yet to figure it out, Miss Kenobi.  Naughty children must be punished when they take things which are not there own," purred the Duchess of Silesia, her face slowly unveiled under the moon's pale light.

 

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

 

There was a buzz of anticipation amongst the rowdy crowd as the midnight hour neared. Thanisson scanned the room, enjoying the last minutes of anonymity with the rest of the revelers before their excuse for impropriety was taken away.

"Oh, bother!" There was a moment of confusion as a distintly feminine voice and an even more feminine form careened indelicately into his side. Thanisson found himself facing a statuesque beauty dressed in a pirate's outfit not dissimilar to his own. His jacket, however, did not have the same flare at the chest, nor did his breeches have the same curve to the hips, as did they did with this mysterious rover.

She was dabbing furiously at the punch which had spilled from her glass and onto her thigh.  He took out his handkerchief and gallantly held it towards her hand.  She took it gratefully, bestowing him with a sheepish grin as the remnants of the spirit seeped into the cambric muslin, turning it red.

"My apologies, my Lord," she offered, her blue eyes bright behind her mask.  "But it appears that your handkerchief is now in as equally a sorry state as my dress."

He gave a gentle shrug. "Think nothing of it. Any buccaneer worth their salt should have the wounds to go along with it. An appropriate part of the costume, if you ask me."

"So this would be yours?" she asked cheekily as she returned the stained piece of cloth.

Thanisson faltered briefly as he thought about Rey. He gave her a valiant smile; indulging in a bit of harmless flirtation would seem to be the perfect remedy for one's wounded pride.

"Well, I am hoping to avoid the one to my vanity if you were to refuse my company at the unmasking."

She laughed, a deep, throaty sound that fell unfettered from her lips. She bent forward, her body sweeping into a low bow.

"I would be delighted to.  Ann Bonny, at your service."  Thanisson's lips crinkled into an appreciative smile as she whipped out a blunderbuss and brandished it with a skillful flourish.

"And who are you supposed to be, My Lord?" she asked as she holstered the weapon back at her side.

Thanisson arched his brow. "That depends. Does your Bonny happen to have a Calico Jack?"

The woman laughed. "No. Although the thought of finally putting out to sea certainly has its appeal."

"In that case, you are looking at Jack Rackham." He mimicked her bow. "At your service."

Thanisson peered into her eyes as he stood.  They twinkled mirthfully, a gorgeous, cornflower blue. Her confident posture was somehow familiar, her energy infectious and reassuring. He frowned.  The flutter of recognition skated at the edges of his consciousness, but before he could pursue it further, his attention was suddenly thwarted by an imposing figure in a black domino who grabbed the mysterious buccaneer by her hand.

"Have you seen Rey, Phasma?" Ren asked. He had removed his mask, and his eyes reflected a trace of urgency.

Thanisson stared in disbelief as Lady Phasma removed her silver-gilded, ivory disguise. "Not for at least the past hour," Phasma replied. She frowned as she scanned their immediate surroundings, searching for a flash of red, or the glint of gold.

"I thought she was with you, Lord Ren," Thanisson piped up.  The Organa-Solo siblings looked at him with surprise. He removed his own mask, flushing dully at Phasma's shocked expression and Ren's darkening scowl.

"Am I to understand that you left Miss Kenobi alone, Thanisson? While you stand here like a hell-hound, trading sweet trifles with my sister?" Kylo took a step forward menacingly.  In that moment, Thanisson wondered if he would forever remain the recipient of anything but Ren's thunderous glare.

Thanisson shook his head, uncertain of how much to say as Lord Hux and Madame de Montespan pulled up by Ren's side.

"It is not what you think," the young man said hastily as Ren took another step. "She--well, Miss Kenobi and I--decided that we are better suited as friends. We both felt that it would be foolhardy to encourage my courtship, given the circumstances."

Thanisson's face took on a look of consternation.  "In fact, that is what I believed she was on her way to tell you."

Kylo did not advance further, but his face still held a frown. "But that does not answer the question of why you let her wander off alone."

"This is a masquerade, Ren," Thanisson answered defensively. "As I am sure you can see, there are plenty of young ladies who are currently mingling unchaperoned." Ren's eyes darted towards Phasma, who blushed. "We parted near the Chinese Pavilion. She was heading up the hill towards you; you could not have been more than five hundred meters away. I did not accompany her further, nor delay my presence because..." He broke off, coughing delicately. "I believe that what she wanted to tell you would have been inappropriate in mixed company. Especially in the presence of her former suitor."

Hux and Isabelle exchanged knowing looks while Phasma tried to suppress her growing smile. Ren, however, was suddenly overtaken by a cold fear.

"That would have been all well and good," he growled, trying to keep the growing anxiety from his voice.  "Except that I was never near the Pavilion tonight."

 

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

 

"Don't feel too badly, Miss Kenobi.  It is an understandable mistake." Bazine purred.  The look in her eyes bordered on madness as she savored Rey's mutinous expression.

Bazine leaned in, laughing wickedly as the younger woman flinched. She reached across and brushed Tyran's jaw affectionately before fingering his hair. She twirled a glossy strand, staring at its ebony color in fascination, coiling it around her finger before it loosened and fell back into place.

"Sir Tyran is very handsome, is he not? It has often been said that he and Lord Ren could be brothers. Twins, perhaps, if not for the color of their hair."

"He is nothing like Lord Ren. In fact, neither of you are worth the polish it takes to blacken his shoes." 

Bazine arched a delicate brow.

"What an interesting choice of words."  She inclined her head towards Tyran's raven locks.  "Shoes are not the only things which can be blackened, you know.  A little bit of gallic and acetic acid added to iron sesquichloride was all it took for this transformation to take place."

"You're mad," Rey whispered. "Lord Ren refuses you, so you create a mockery of his image in his stead?"

Bazine gave her an inscrutable look.  "Are you not pleased?  I created him for you, after all."

"Me?  You created--" Rey's confusion slowly turned to horror.  "What does any of this have to do with me?!"

Bazine's eyes hardened. "It has _everything_ to do with you!" she hissed. "Kylo was supposed to be mine! We were always meant to be together, ever since we were children!  Yet you insinuate yourself into his life and steal his affections--a ragged, uncouth, ungraceful girl, with nothing of her own..."  She choked on her rage in disbelief.

Rey stared. "Lord Ren is not an object for you to own.  And the unfortunate situation in which you find yourself has nothing to do with me.  It is true that he loved you, once.  Yet you destroyed that love when you shattered his hopes, and along with them the remaining threads of his dignity and grace.  Have you any idea of how much he suffered, of the damage you caused with your callous disregard?"

"How much _he_ suffered?!  You foolish girl, you have no idea!" Bazine's voice climbed in her fury.  "You have no idea of what I had to endure, of what it means to live a life filled with physical and emotional pain."

Rey bit her lip.  She unfortunately knew of these things all too well.

"It doesn't matter now," the Duchess said, her voice dangerously soft.  "Although Kylo may be lost to me forever, he will _never_ be yours.  As you have felled my last chance at finding happiness, so I shall destroy yours."

Tyran looked around nervously.

"Your Grace."  Tyran's voice was loaded with warning.  "Perhaps we should proceed with your plan?" The music was playing in the distance, and the buzz of the moving crowd lent an intensity to the air.  It would not be long before the guests spilled out of the Rotunda and back onto Ranalegh's well-manicured lawns.

Bazine ignored Tyran's cautionary stare. "Poor Kylo.  Despite the benefits of his entitlement, he is unfortunately too predictable when it comes to matters of his dress. He was never one to find pleasure in the novelty a masquerade, always choosing to wear the same uninspired costume, year after year."

She turned suddenly.

"I am sure you are aware by now just how much Kylo values loyalty.  He cannot abide by the thought of betrayal."  She grimaced.  "A betrayal of any kind would cut deep.  But for him, a betrayal of the heart is akin to an irreparable wound.

"I wonder what he would think, should gossip of an improper dalliance reach his ears?  How would he react, knowing that his little bird was discovered in the midst of an amorous congress?  Sir Tyran is not only attractive, but I can tell you first hand that he has his own considerable charms.  I believe he would take great pleasure in bending you to his will."

"I would never participate in such a thing," Rey retorted.

Bazine let out a shrill laugh.  "Ahh, but you already have.  How easily you played into our hands.  It was you who sought out Tyran, so easily fooled by the black of his hair and the shape of his cloak.  It would take even less to sully your reputation.  A gag on that pretty mouth and a glimpse of your costume as Tyran spins fanciful expressions of love to you in the dark.  The convenience of a gossipy crowd; how rapidly those whispers would spread of your indiscretion, a Banbury story sowing the seeds of his doubt." 

"I beg of you, Your Grace.  We need to move, lest we attract unwanted attention."  Tyran removed his hand from Rey's waist to grab Bazine, pulling her to the side.

Rey spun away, taking advantage of Tyran's momentary distraction to reach under her skirt. Her fingers curled around the well-worn handle of her sgian-achlais. Its honed blade slipped out from its gartered scabbard, its metal surface glinting menacingly as it flashed in the moon's light.

Tyran's disbelief quickly turned into anger.

"You dare to threaten me?!" he snarled, reaching out towards her weaponed arm.

Although Rey was woefully outmatched by his towering height and strength, her experience on the streets gifted her with a both slight of hand and speed. She feinted, batting his arm away.  She brought the dagger forward, the weapon arcing dangerously towards him in warning.

"Stay back," Rey exhorted, her trembling hands belying the bravado in her voice.

Tyran pushed Bazine aside and lunged. Rey side-stepped him, reaching across and striking out from underneath his outstretched arm.  The weapon's sharp point tore through the sleeve of his shirt, the steel blade piercing his skin.  Tyran retreated, reeling as the heel of his boot caught on the exposed root of a massive oak.  Rey watched in horror as he fell, his leg flexed beneath him at an unnatural angle as his arms circled overhead, only to stop as his head hit the trunk with a sickening thud.

Rey drew a sharp breath at the sight of the blood which began to pool from behind Tyran's ear. She took a step forward to peer at his form, breathing a sigh of relief upon witnessing the rise and fall of his chest.

"Stop where you are!" Bazine's eyes were unfocused and wild. Her reticule had dropped to the ground, and she held a boxlock flintlock in her grasp. The end of its dainty barrel was wavering unsteadily, and Rey felt a frisson of fear wash over her as the safety slid into place and the pistol became fully cocked.

"Get away from him," Bazine hissed, the double-crossed scepters on the Staudenmayer proof blurring rapidly in her shaking hands.

Rey stepped back slowly from Tyran's unmoving figure.

"He is hurt, Bazine, and requires attention." she said quietly.  "Do you wish his blood on your conscience?"

"It is your own conscience which needs to be appeased.  Drop the dagger!" Bazine ordered, directing the pistol's movement towards Rey's hand. "Make haste!  I assure you that I am more than a fair shot."

Rey closed her eyes and took a deep breath.  Her life flashed in front of her in rapid bursts.  Images of her family, and of their love.  Of their ambitions, and their ill-fated journey. Of her days spent hungry and cold.  Of her loneliness, and Plutt's tutelage, and his greed. Of the shock of her capture, and of Hux's wager, and of Kylo's opulent world.  Of his cynicism and of his rapidly growing stares, and of the way he held her against him as they danced, and of the aching vulnerability on his lips when they finally kissed.

Of the moment when she had fallen hopelessly, and helplessly in _love_.

She opened her eyes, at peace with the knowledge that even as she stood in front of a madwoman, she would choose Kylo again and again.  She stared resolutely ahead and awaited her fate, as her fingers slowly loosened from the sgian-achlais' hilt.

"Rey!" Kylo's guttural cry carried through the night.  His long legs bridged the distance with their furious strides, with four other shadows trailing at his sides.

Bazine wailed upon hearing his call, the keening sound an inhuman mix of anguish and fury. A shower of sparks and the smell of sulfur sprayed forth from the flintlock's muzzle as she pulled the trigger, her target none other than Rey's heart.  But her roiling emotions caused her aim to falter, and the lead ball sailed wide of its intended mark, grazing Rey's shoulder instead.

As Bazine peered from behind the smoking gun in disbelief, Rey took hold of her dagger and threw.  It flew through the air, the blade entrapping the hem of Bazine's gown as Rey charged, knocking the gun out of her hand and pulling the screaming woman onto the ground.

The gun skittered out of reach.  The roaring in her ears subsided as Rey heard the approaching shouts. Thanisson and Phasma ran towards Tyran, the viscount checking the downed noble's pockets for any concealed weapons while Phasma trained her blunderbuss on his stirring form.

“Rey.”  Kylo choked.  His eyes were suspiciously wet as his strong arms pulled her up.  He held her against him, needing to memorize the scent of her hair, and to feel the beating of her heart.

“You Cytherean!” Bazine shrieked accusingly at Rey, her face livid at the sight of Kylo's affection.

“You whore!  You who set your cap on him, playing to his sympathies with your faradiddles and cutting shams!"

Murmurs rippled through the growing crowd.  The Duchess' eyes were glazed, her once–glorious locks loosened from under their hold.  Her clothing was shredded and torn, a match for her sanity as she succumbed to the depths of her hatred.

“What kind of creature are you, that you would continue to torture me so? You take what is mine, throwing a rub in the way of my best attempts to impugn your virtue. And yet you still taunt me, flaunting yourself in his arms!” She wailed, reaching up to claw at her hair in frustration and devastation, before throwing herself at Rey.

"I wish I had killed you!"

Kylo took a step forward, his face filled with fury, his hand ready to strike.   Hux quickly wrestled her to the ground, and the next words he spoke were laced with a spiteful satisfaction.

 _“_ I warned you, Bazine, that such machinations and treachery would only lead to disgrace and scandal in the end."  He smirked.  "Perhaps your charms are not as potent as they once seemed.”

Bazine squirmed furiously, spitting on the his cheek as she struggled to break free.

“If you ever valued your life, do not continue to play the fool,” Hux sneered. “You have already admitted to your deceit in front of the ton.  I have the benefit of a loaded British Holster at my side.  And although I may not be Ren’s nursemaid, as you had once so accused, I am a soldier who has spilt blood for my country, and would not hesitate to do the same for my friends.”

Hux pulled the belt from his costume as Bazine reluctantly stilled.  He wound the fabric around her wrists, unable to resist knotting it tightly as he gave one last forceful tug.  When he looked up, he spotted Rey, his expression suddenly changing into a concerned frown.

“Perhaps you should attend to your bird, Ren. It appears that she may have been winged.”

Kylo loosened his hold on Rey’s arms. She shivered, bereft from the loss of his touch. For the first time she noticed the crowd's curious looks and pitying stares. She began to shake, her sobs wracking her body as they hurtled against her ribs.  She reached out towards Kylo, and was almost felled by the pain which lanced through her shoulder as she grappled against him for support.

“She needs to be looked after, Ren,” Hux said softly. “Why don’t you take her home? The Duchess and Sir Tyran are currently incapacitated. The horse patrol will be here soon. There are plenty of witnesses, and you can follow up with the Bow Street Runners to press charges in the morn.”

Rey pulled into him tightly and squeezed his hand.  "Please, Kylo." she begged.

Kylo looked down at Rey. Her face was wan, her body trembling, and her breathing too shallow and quick.  His throat choked with emotions, he quickly nodded his assent.  He swept Rey into his arms, her head resting against his heart, as he headed towards the exit to find the nearest coach.

 

**~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

 

He had not let her out of his arms from that moment forward.  He cradled her against him, striving to protect her with every last bit of his reserve.  He accosted the first available coachman, paying him quadruple the standard rate for the privilege of privacy as the carriage headed towards the Grenier's Hotel at a breakneck speed.  He held her always, refusing the driver's assistance as they disembarked, holding her weary form against him until they reached the safety of his room.

He lay her down on his bed.  She stretched, her aching body welcoming its softness as she settled against the linens, enveloping her in his scent.

_"Kylo."_

His heart ached.  Never had he heard her so vulnerable, the notes hovering and breaking over the letters of his name.

"I'm here, Rey," he murmured, his large hand clasped reassuringly over her own.  He rubbed his thumb against her trembling skin, keeping the movement slow and steady until the shaking subsided.

He brushed the hair off her forehead and graced it with a gentle kiss.

"I need to look at your shoulder," he said apologetically.  He stood reluctantly, removing his jacket and waistcoat as he rolled up his sleeves.  He quickly lit the candles before returning to her side, armed with a basin of water and a cloth.

He looked at her shoulder tentatively.  The fabric of the choli was torn, the skin underneath reddened.  Its abraded edges had already begun to thicken and congeal, causing it to stick painfully against the fibers of her blouse.

Rey grimaced at his inelegant attempts to access her damaged skin.  He took a deep breath, dampening the edges of the cloth repeatedly until it finally loosened its grip.  His hand hovered, and there was a hint of a faint blush as he made a request.

"Rey.  I need you to remove your top so that I may properly attend to your wound."  He turned around, unbuttoning his shirt and handing it to her blindly.

"You may put this on to cover yourself.  Leave your shoulder exposed, however, so that I am able to clean and dress it."

He felt her take the shirt from her hand.  Her silence was soon followed by the tinkle of her beads, and the swish of the fabric gliding across her skin as the top was drawn overhead.  He took a deep breath, unable to suppress a shudder and the direction of his traitorous imagination upon hearing the creak as she adjusted her position on the bed.

When she finally spoke, her voice was resolute.

"You need not fear for my modesty, Kylo.  I have spent much of my life in the company of others, where it was a luxury too scarce to afford.  Moreover, _'it does not follow that modesty is a virtue; it is built upon shame, a passion in our nature, and may be either good or bad according to the actions performed from that motive.'_

"I have seen enough good and bad in my life, to be well aware of the difference.  I know that when I see you, I see so much good that my heart nearly bursts from its overwhelming radiance and generosity."

Her voice softened, caressing him with her love and acceptance.

"I am ready, whenever you are."

Kylo turned slowly, and when he finally saw her, his mouth went dry at the sight.

She sat bathed in moon's rays, proud and guileless, as prepossessing and glorious as Selene.  Wisps of her hair framed her face, a milky, chocolate brown which morphed into spun gold.  She looked at him expectantly, her hazel eyes wide framed by the lengths of her lashes. His shirt draped over her enticingly, the outline of her curves and the dusky tips of her breasts plainly visible against the thin fabric which was rendered semi-transparent by the nocturnal light.

Kylo swallowed heavily.  He sat down, the bed dipping down under his added weight.  The sleeve slipped further under his watchful gaze, exposing the graceful line of her neck and the curve of her shoulder before the tantalizing glimpse of her bared skin disappeared back into the folds of the fabric.

He kept his eyes focused ahead.  The water tinkled against the smooth porcelain as he brought up the wash cloth and began to clean.  He dabbed gently, slowly washing away every trace of the angry redness and the debris.

He dropped the washcloth back into the bowl and set it to the side.  He brought his hands back, his fingers tentatively tracing the margins of her abraded skin, needing to feel her, reluctant to let go.

She stilled his hand.  Her fingers gently curled around their trembling lengths, and she raised his palm until it rested against the softness of her prettily flushed cheek.

"Rey," he groaned.  She turned into him, soothing the roughness of his hands with a gentle brush of her lips.  His body hummed with desire, its intensity spreading from the depths of his chest and stealing his breath.

He tilted his head and shifted against her as she let out a breathy sigh.  The traces of her magnolia perfume mixed with his woodsy scent, reminiscent of Caserta’s gardens after a glorious summer rain. His lips pressed against hers, so sweet and wondrous in its innocence and strength, until they parted in invitation and he leaned in for more.

She wound her hands around his neck, burying her fingers into his long locks, pulling him further in. Her tongue darted out, licking the edges of his mouth teasingly until his tongue captured hers as his body trembled in response.

She felt the slow flush of heat as it suffused her body. Every part of her ached, and she couldn't prevent the soft whimper which escaped as he reluctantly pulled away.

“Kylo, please.”

His name was salvation, her plea like mana dripping from her honeyed lips.  His breathing was ragged as he took in her hazel eyes, their color darkened by her desire.

“I—I can’t,” he rasped, cursing the remnants of his moral fiber even as his gaze raked over her silhouetted form. “With everything that you have been through tonight.  What kind of man would I be, were I to take advantage of you, when you may not be in full control of your emotions, or--” Kylo flushed as he watched the way her body was wantonly responding to him.  "Your reactions."

Rey stared.

“But I am in control,” she said adamantly. “At least as much as a woman who has fallen in love with all her heart could remain so."

She moved closer to him.  Their thighs touched, their chests so close that each breath caused her shirt to brush against his skin.

_"I have been more than once intoxicated; my passions have always bordered on extravagance. I am not ashamed to confess it.”_

He bowed his head, overwhelmed by the memory of their banter on that glorious summer morning, as well as her acknowledgement of the statement's truth.  His resolve broke with the realization of all that she was offering.  The magnitude of her gift rushed through him, nearly bowling him over and knocking him to his knees.

He took her hands in his own, his eyes shining with the emotion of his words.

“For the last ten years, Rey, I have been drifting at sea, lost in my anger and drowning in the bitterness of what had become of my life. With you in it, I have finally found the shore. You complement me. You inspire me.  You fulfill me.  You do more than occupy my every thought; you have become the very essence of my being.  You not only captured my heart; you made me whole."

He inhaled, dipping his forehead until it rested upon hers, placing her small hand over his racing heart.

" _Think of you! I do not think of you; you are always before my soul."_

His breath grew ragged, as her hand splayed across the planes of his chest.  She drew her thumb in, circling his nipple, the darkened nub hardening rapidly underneath her touch as he let out a moan.

Kylo reached out for her greedily in response, his hand fisting into the shirt's folds.  The borrowed clothing hung huge over her slight frame, its cotton material more intoxicating than the finest gossamer silk.  He lowered the voluminous fabric hastily, letting it puddle around her waist.

Rey sat, her cheeks coloring under his appreciative stare.  She held her head high as his hands worshipped each magnificent curve and lingered over every sensitive crook, until she was finally free of every habiliment and completely bared to his gaze.

His chest burst, filled with disbelief at the image of this sublime creature offering herself unabashedly to him.  She was magnificent.  She was glorious. 

_She was his._

He let out a shattered groan as he kissed her ravenously, her body arching into his embrace.  Her nipples peaked, their friction rough and exquisite against his skin.  He cupped her breasts and kneaded those fleshy curves, grinning in satisfaction upon hearing her whine as he took her into his mouth.

Her body was on fire, its intensity bubbling up and consuming her as he laved her with his tongue.  Her belly throbbed, and she ached with an emptiness that she knew only he could fulfill.  She pulled at his trousers, tearing at the buttons of his placket impatiently, nearly sobbing as his hot and heavy cock sprang free.

He was beside himself with desire as he tore off his pants and toed off his shoes.  Kylo gasped as her hands slid tentatively over his considerable girth.  She began to stroke him, delighting the sounds she elicited from his panting mouth.  She grew bolder, her grip tightening as it moved rapidly on his rigid shaft, flushing with a heady power as it began to twitch and leak.

"You must be a witch," he rasped with a shuddering breath.  He could come like this, with her experimental innocence and seductress' intuition, the combination more potent than all the tricks of the most practiced courtesan.  He snaked his hand between the softness of her thighs, curling his fingers against the softness of her curls, as his thumb sought the warm and dewy jewel which lay hidden beneath.

She moaned, the delicate line of her neck arching in pleasure, exposing her fluttering pulse.  He circled the area slowly, feeling the wetness seep against his hands, their dewy sweetness signaling her growing readiness for something more.  He circled faster, pressing gently against her quim and dipping the tip of his finger into the warmth of her walls as she rolled her hips in response.

"I need you," she urged breathily, pulling him upwards.  There was such an ache, a heat in her belly, which was yearning to be filled.  "I want to feel all of your passion.  Show me what it is to love, in the most intimate way."

He positioned himself over her, his strong arms shaking from his need.  As he hovered, he drank in the sight of her beauty.  The moonlight filtered through the window, casting her in a glowing, luminous sheen.  Her lips were red and swollen from their kisses, her cheeks pink, and eyes dark with yearning.   He growled with a sudden pride and possessiveness, even as his conscience warred with his lust one last time.

"Rey.  I do not wish to sully your reputation.  The gift which you offer is both singular and precious."  He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.  "I am no longer a boy of eighteen, with a need to sow his oats.  I do not mind waiting until we are properly engaged.  That is, I...I mean, you are well worth--"

He sputtered at the loss of his usual eloquence.  She smiled knowingly, and leaned forward to capture his lips.

"I love you," she murmured.  "For so long, my life has been devoid of happiness.  I see no need to deprive myself of such joy or pleasure, now that I have found you.  I want to share this--tonight, and always--with you."

She angled her hips towards him, the downy softness of her curls teasing his cock.

_"Make love to me, Kylo Ren."_

He sank into her, unable to resist any longer.  She gasped at the incredible fullness, her muscles tightening instinctively as the hint of tears pricked her eyes.

He kissed her dewy lashes, murmuring words of comfort and love. She slowly relaxed as he stroked her sides, her legs eventually spreading open as she tilted her hips up to take him further in.

He could sob at her perfection, his past dalliances merely pale imitations and temporary substitutions for all that she was. She kissed him as they began to move, their lips and tongues full of wonderment and passion.  Her heart burst as she felt him move inside her, his strokes growing more fervent, faster and stronger, until his pistoning hips matched the tattooed beat of her heart.  The heat spread from her groin like a bird taking flight, soaring and blinding in its beauty, the fluttering of its wings growing louder as it approached the sun and embraced its white light.

_Rey.  My true Love._

The air shimmered as he chanted the mantra in his head, the words blurring in their sound and meaning until it spilled over him in a flood of emotion.  He groaned as he gave one last thrust and she keened, filling her with his seed, her name the last thing on his lips as he came with a shuddering breath.

He spiraled downward in the aftermath, listening to the thudding beat of his heart and the exhale of his breath, his lips tasting the sweaty salt of her skin.  He held her tight, unable to let her go as his lips traced the delicate curves of his face.  He continued to kiss her as her lids drifted closed, and he did not fear the glorious truth of the words he softly whispered into her ear.

_I love you, Rey Kenobi.  Mind, body and soul._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so all those chemicals were ingredients to make lamp black. This was an actual recipe which was used in the 1800's to make a hair dye as put forth in the book "The Arts of Beauty" by [_The Countess of Landsfeld_](http://thehistoryofthehairsworld.com/hair_19th_century.html).  
>  I hope that this ending makes up for that red herring! *ducks quickly*  
> 


	18. L'amour Vainc Tout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Each man should frame life so that at some future hour fact and his dreaming meet.**  
>  _-Victor Hugo_  
>   
>  The conclusion to "A Gentleman's Wager"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Link to a larger version of the gorgeous artwork by @panda-capuccino can be found  
> [ ** _here_**](http://nerdherderette.tumblr.com/post/153686026360/wooh-so-happy-to-reveal-that-the-final-chapter)  
> 

* * *

 

_**Vivre sans aimer n'est pas proprement vivre** _

-Molière

 

The lake's glassy surface reflected the clear blue skies and verdant canopy above, its smoothness interrupted by the occasional darting of silvery bleaks, or the ruffling of feathers as groups of reed buntings and great crested grebes preened and dove.  A pair of powerful steeds and their handsome riders slowed as the gravel path on which they rode morphed into the reedy outline of the water's edge.

"Look," Hux whispered excitedly, pointing to a pair of birds foraging in a copse of shrubs. "A couple of American Redstarts! They must have had one devil of a journey, to make it so far east."

The cock bobbed, an obtrusive figure draped in jet black from the top of his head to the tip of his tail with the exception of the occasional copper splash. He successfully gleaned a stonefly and proceeded to hop over to his companion, who remained nestled within the tall grass.

“The two look surprisingly domesticated, considering they are so far from their natural home,” Kylo remarked.

Hux grinned. "It appears as if more than one Stateside bird has discovered something worthwhile enough in our fair country to pull up stakes.”

Kylo snorted.  "Yes, well, England _does_ have her share of attractions,” he remarked, rolling his eyes affectionately as he laughed. Despite the teasing nature of Kylo’s words, the implications of Hux’s statement did not escape him in the least.

It had been nearly two years since Rey barreled into the Earl of Alderaan's life, upending everything he had previously known.  Kylo’s handsome face pulled into a frown as he recalled how he nearly lost the woman who eventually captured his once-cynical heart, whether through his own inconstant and profligate behavior, or the malicious jealousies of others.

Hux spared him a knowing glance.

"Bazine is in Bedlam, Ren," he said gently.  "She will not be able to hurt you, or Rey, any longer."

Kylo responded with a rueful smile. "Rey is endowed with a generous spirit.  I would say that she is compassionate to a fault, were I not a recipient of her beneficence myself."

It was upon Rey's urging that Bazine now resided under the care of the staff at Bethlem Royal Hospital instead of sharing the cold walls of Newgate with the likes of Sir Tyran. Kylo's fury at the Duchess' treacherous behavior made him unreceptive to the suggestion at first, although Rey's appeal for mercy won him over in the end. Despite Bazine's cruel machinations, he was glad to have heeded Rey's advice. He had lived for too many years under the oppressive cloak of bitterness and scorn, and with this gesture of forgiveness, he was able to finally shrug its weight off his weary shoulders. He hoped that Bazine would eventually find some measure of happiness and acceptance, although he knew that he would not remain a participant in her life to witness it.

Bazine was his past. He was finally free of his demons, and on this propitious day, his only desire was for the future.

"And what of you, Hux? Now that Napoleon has been exiled to Elba, will you be remaining in London for awhile?"

Hux looked down at the band of gold which decorated his left hand. It shone warm and brilliant in the sun, and its heft proved both a welcome and comforting presence.

"Perhaps longer than you think. My next battle may take place not on the fields, but in rooms of St. Stephen's."

Ren's brow lifted fractionally at the information, only to be quickly replaced with a look of pride.

"You have a good heart, Hux, as well as an aptness for spurring passions and drawing men to your side. I think that a political position would suit you well. Not to mention the fact that you now have a certain someone who would prefer you to remain closer to the safety of home."

"Make that a certain _someones_ ," Hux clarified, as a blush worked its way up to the tip of his ears.

Ren stared, then whooped as recognition dawned.  He reached over to clasp Hux's arm with glee.

"You and Isabelle! With a bantling on the way--" Kylo's voice held a trace of awe.

Hux laughed, his green eyes filled with mirth. "I have no doubt that you will have a similar announcement of your own, by year's end. But first things first." He gave Ren a wicked grin.

"We have a wedding to attend."

 

~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~

 

"The guests will be arriving within the hour, Miss Kenobi.  The vicar is already here; he appears to be happily settled with a generously sized claret cup which has yet to leave his side." Mrs. Kanata sniffed as she surveyed the flurry of activity within the room. Her large brown eyes, so usually sharply observant, were suspiciously bright.

Rey looked at the older woman fondly. "I don't think I have ever seen the estate look more beautiful, Mrs. Kanata. Thank you," she said softly.  "For everything."

Mrs. Kanata acknowledged Rey's gratitude with a slight nod. The staff had worked tirelessly with preparations for the impending nuptials following the couple's successful audience with the Archbishop of Canterbury. Although the future Countess of Alderaan had been aghast at the cost and influence required to obtain a special license, she was grateful that her fiancé embraced the idea of holding the ceremony at Caserta instead of the local parish church. The home's verdant hills and fecund grounds provided the most picturesque of settings, and its significance would be forever ingrained in their hearts.  It was particularly magical today-- the riotous colors of the blooming gardens were nearly out-matched by the tantalizing sights and smells of the elaborate feast, while the sweet sounds of minstrels and the arriving musicians lent a gaiety to the air.

The older woman watched as Jessika put the finishing touches on Rey's hair. Delicate strings of seed pearls were threaded through the loose strands of her artfully arranged locks, punctuated by sprays of gypsophila and their leaves. The bride's cheeks and lips were faintly stained, and her sparkling hazel eyes were highlighted with a hint of kohl. The beauty and radiance which Rey exuded, however, went far beyond such artificial enhancements.

"It was our pleasure, Miss Kenobi." Mrs. Kanata wavered, then broke propriety as she leaned forward to give Rey a quick hug. The kindly woman then stood, suddenly unaccountably fascinated by the threading of her own dress. When she spoke again, her voice was slightly gruff.

"Not bad for a Mistress Princum-Prancium, eh?" She allowed herself a brief smile before she schooled her features into an inscrutable expression and hurried out the door.

"Mrs. Kanata, a Mistress Princum-Prancium?!" Phasma asked with a laugh. "You will have to tell me the story behind that, one day."

Rey turned towards the statuesque blonde. Phasma looked resplendent in a fine cotton gown in ivory white, the sleek and graceful lines accentuating her tall and elegant frame. Her flawless complexion was highlighted by the flush of excitement in her cheeks, as well as the merriment which danced in her crystal blue eyes.

Phasma tilted her head as Millicent wove several white roses into a subtle design within the bridesmaid's platinum locks. Rey thought that she never looked more beautiful.  The past year had taught Kylo's sister to embrace her femininity, and coupled with her gamine nature, had turned the youngest Organa-Solo into one of the most formidable and sought-after members of the marriageable ton.

Not that Phasma indulged in the numerous opportunities which were suddenly laid at her feet. Her attentions appeared to have already been captured by one.

"The Viscount looks particularly handsome today," Rey remarked slyly, her grin widening at Phasma's deepening blush.

"Pish posh," Phasma said dismissively, although not enough to hide the pleased smile which graced the blonde's lips.

Jessika and Millicent looked at each other knowingly.

"Forgive my boldness, Lady Phasma," Jessika said. "But you have always been particularly skilled in the hunt. You have managed to capture the heart of a rare knave-in-grain; perhaps you should allow him to bear the bell!"

"Aye!  In fact, if you hurry, we are blessed to have the company of both the clergyman and the parish clerk at hand. I am sure the handsome Lord Thanisson would not be adverse," Millicent added with a smirk.

"Ahhh, the pair of you are no more than a pair of gossiping tibs! Enough with you," Phasma scolded fondly, amidst their peals of laughter.

A gentle knock interrupted the festivities at the door, followed by the imposing elegance of the Marchioness as she stepped over the threshold.

"Do not stop on my account," she smiled as she took in the abigails' guilty expressions . "I can not think of anything more appropriate for today than for our home to be filled with the sounds of happiness and merriment."

Jessika adjusted the silken hem of Rey's cream colored gown. It's ivory tone glowed against Rey's lightly tanned skin, and the bodice was trimmed in gold beading and tiny shells.  She lifted a small veil made of an intricately patterned Point Brussel's lace, securing it to the back of Rey's hair with a diamond and pearl pin. The lace fell delicately from underneath the spray of flowers, in an tasteful yet beautiful statement matching the bride herself.

Phasma's breath hitched at the sight. "You look gorgeous, Rey."

"Indeed," Leia concurred. "It is easy to see why you have swept my son off his feet." She gazed at Rey, the lines at the corners of her eyes crinkling upwards. "I wonder if you would spare me a moment of your time?"

Jessika and Millicent acknowledged the Marchioness before quietly slipping away.  Phasma gave her mother a meaningful look, standing and planting a quick kiss on her cheek before turning to Rey.

"The gardeners have been working until the last minute on your bouquet; they wanted to make sure that you had the freshest and most fragrant flowers that the gardens had to offer.  I will collect it for you." She bit her lip, her normally composed face crumpling slightly under the weight of her emotions. "I am so happy you came into our lives." She smiled brightly, before exiting and shutting the door.

Leia sat down next to Rey.  She clasped the younger woman's hand, her touch at once gentle and familiar, and speaking volumes of her acceptance and love.

"How are you feeling, Rey?"

Rey smiled shyly.

"Excited, my Lady--and despite the occasion, surprisingly calm. I have loved your son for so long. The events of today are a celebration and affirmation of my feelings, but it cannot make my love for him any greater, as I what I hold for him cannot possibly be expanded upon."

Leia smiled understandingly. "The Marquess and I could not have hoped for Kylo to find a more suitable match. He is passionate and at times tempestuous, and it takes a wise and equally passionate woman meet him head on. Your beauty inspires him, while your kindness grounds him. Most of all, you have brought a lightness back into his heart.  It is something I have not seen in years, and once feared forever lost.

"Thank you, Rey, for showing him that the world is truly a wonderful place."

Rey watched, stunned, as Leia withdrew a small box and flipped over the hinged top.  Inside sat a beautiful heart-shaped locket made of gold. The exquisite repousse work and chasing contained gems of turquoise and pearls which were nestled amidst the images of jasmine, ivy and larkspur.

"This necklace was passed down from the women in my family," Leia explained. "It is a symbol of our strength, and our ever-lasting love. The flowers represent the things we hold dear: spirit, fidelity, elegance and grace.

"You embody all these things, Rey. Today, you will become part of a long and honorable line of courageous and competent Organa women. This now belongs to you."

"My Lady..." Rey swallowed, overwhelmed at the magnitude of the gift.  She fought back her tears, caught up in the swell of unconditional love which she had once thought forever lost.  "You and your family have already showered me with your unspeakable generosity. Beyond that, you provided me with the opportunity to regain my pride and self-worth.  I could spent the rest of my life trying, and would still be unable to repay the magnitude of my debt to you."

"You saved my son," Leia said simply. "There is no amount of jewelry, or money, or privilege in the world which could replace that. I would say that it is my family who owes you."

She held out the box once again, the locket winking against the folds of the soft velvet cloth.

Rey hesitated. Given the locket's familial significance, she was reluctant to accept such a priceless gift.

"Phasma.."

"Would like very much for you to have it. The two of us have discussed this; in fact, it was her idea. Phasma has always been fiercely protective of her brother, and she adores you. There are plenty of other trinkets which she may avail herself of stored in the family vaults. But when it comes to this particular piece, we both feel that there is no one more fitting to wear it, than you," Leia replied firmly.

The Marchioness leaned forward, her competent hands steady and reassuring as she placed the lavaliere around Rey's neck. The locket's weight nestled against comfortably against her chest, its jewels twinkling brilliantly against the metal's warm glow.

"Perfect." Leia pronounced. Her eyes misted over as Rey flung herself towards her, disregarding her wedding dress as she enveloped the older woman in a fierce hug.

"In the eyes of our family, you are already one of us," Leia said tenderly. "Shall we go downstairs and make it official? I believe the vicar and several guests are waiting."

　

~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~

 

_Breathe._

The smell of early summer blooms filled the air, their perfumed splendor matched by the vibrant burst of color which decorated the surroundings. The gardeners had outdone themselves, plucking the freshest and most vivid bouquets of crysanthemum and hydrangea to fill the crystal cut vases, as well as the bride's delicate spray of freesia and orange blossoms which sat wrapped in ribbon and lace.

The early afternoon sun lazed high in the sky. Its golden rays were buffered by a gentle breeze, the warm current carrying the trills of the songbirds over the low murmurs of the guests. Rey's heart filled as she looked out over the intimate gathering of their family and friends, and she let out a contented sigh.

Kylo lent her an encouraging smile. He was dressed handsomely in a muslin shirt and silken cravat, the clean lines of his swallowtail jacket showcasing his imposing form. His dark breeches clung to the muscular curves of his legs, while his ebony locks cascaded out from underneath the brim of his hat.

His style of dress was quickly forgotten, however, when those topaz eyes met her own. They looked upon Rey with such passion and admiration, that their intensity nearly caused her to swoon.

Kylo's face suddenly lit up mischievously. Rey noted the subtle movement as his right hand appeared to toy carelessly with the pocket watch which lay secured to his waistcoat by a thin chain. It glinted briefly as the back caught the light, the engraved case angling slightly towards her with a deft turn of his hand.

Rey swallowed the laugh which threatened to bubble forth from her throat. She would never forget the shape or weight of that piece as it lay briefly in her pickpocketing hand, her prize thwarted by Kylo's lightning fast reflexes during their fateful meeting two years ago.

The vicar looked out over the assembled guests as he straightened his stance and cleared his throat.  His jowls shook as his sonorous voice rang out over the countryside.

"Dearly beloved.  We are gathered here in the sight of God to witness the joining of this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony. The union of husband and wife in heart, body, and mind is intended for their mutual joy; for the help and comfort given one another in prosperity and adversity..."

His booming voice words echoed all which Rey felt in her soul. Kylo had shown her a love which soared with passion and heady emotion, yet tethered her with its unwavering loyalty and support. It was a love which constantly challenged her mind and her spirit, filling her with humor, arousing her desires, and flattering her vanities.  It was a love in which she discovered not only her equal, but her best friend.

It a love which in her soul, she had always yearned to find.

 _True love_.

Kylo took her hands into his own as he gave her a reassuring squeeze.

"Miss Kenobi. Will you have this man to be your husband; to live together in the covenant of marriage? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?"

Rey's lips curved in a smile.  Her voice was steady with her conviction as she spoke.

"There to I plight thee my troth."

Kylo's eyes gleamed. He withdrew a gold band, simple and pure. It encircled and hugged her finger as he slid it into place, caressing her skin, not letting go.

"Lord Ren. Will you have this woman to be your wife; to live together in the covenant of marriage? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?"

"With this Ring I thee wed; with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.  There to I plight thee my troth."  His promise rang for all to hear, carried by such an onslaught of happiness that it threatened to bring him to his knees

"Now that they have given themselves to each other by solemn vows, with the joining of hands and the giving and receiving of a ring, I pronounce them husband and wife.  Those whom God has joined together, let no one put asunder."

There was not a dry eye in the house as Kylo lowered his lips onto Rey's.  They breathed each other in and sealed their commitment with a kiss.

 

  **~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~**

 

The sounds of revelry spilled out over Caserta's grounds as both the invited guests as well as many of the county folks gathered to congratulate the newlyweds. The musicians struck up a lively Scotch air, and soon the plaintive sounds of the strings and the delicate notes of the flutes joined the clinking of glassware and satisfied expressions of those who dined on the prize game and vegetables acquired from the grounds of the estate.

"It is good to see you again, Mr.Daniels."

The kindly butler smiled at the handsome young man who greeted him. The years of running and hard work were evident in the muscular form which lay underneath the turn of his frockcoat and breeches.

"As it is to see you, Mr. Finn. Congratulations on your new position. Mister Kylo is certainly lucky to obtain your services as head for his new household."

Finn blushed faintly under his former mentor's praise. "Thank you, Mr. Daniels. I consider myself lucky enough to have learned from the best."

"And will you be accompanying the young couple to their new home as well, Colonel Dameron? I understand that the earl has been extraordinarily pleased with your work with the Lipizzan. The word is that he would like you to assist him in growing his stable of thoroughbred racehorses."

Poe smiled noncomitally.  "Given Soult's agreement to the armistice, I believe the Battle of Toulouse to have been my last.  I have spent many years of my life serving my country, and it is something I will always recall with honor and pride. But now I seek new adventures, and the other wonderful things which my future holds in store." The cavalryman's eyes twinkled in Finn's direction as his sensual mouth broke out into a wide grin.

"Oh, Mister Kylo has never looked happier!" Mrs. Kanata exclaimed to Daniels after the two men left to join the other revelers in their growing libations. She sniffled, furtively dabbing the corner of her eye.  "It seems like it was only yesterday that he was racing around these gardens with Lord Hux and Lady Phasma in tow."

"Unfortunately for us all, time does not stand still.  Luckily, he has grown not only older, but quite a bit wiser as well.  He has grown comfortably into his role as the Marchess' heir, and a responsible lord." A wistful expression crossed the older man's face as he recalled the years which had flown so quickly by.

"Look at us.  We've turned into a pair of maudlin tale tellers."  He pulled himself up, as his implacable demeanor resurfaced.  "Shall we see how the other staff is faring, Mrs. Kanata?"

Mrs. Kanata nodded, grateful for the companionship of her long time friend.  The two spared the besotted couple one more glance. The guests who were not busy indulging in delicacies and sweet treats could be found dancing near the bride and groom in the area where the Great Hall spilled out from the French doors and onto the steps overlooking gardens.

Kylo drew Rey close. "A guinea for your thoughts, Lady Ren."

Rey blushed at how naturally the title spilled from his lips. She leaned into Kylo's tall frame, the warmth of his body and his masculine scent causing a tendril of desire to spiral through her belly and shoot to her toes.

"Certain thoughts would be better shared in private," she responded, smiling wickedly. Kylo's eyes darkened with her promise. She arched her neck as his lips furtively pressed along its graceful line, the tip of his tongue darting out to lick along the hollow of her throat.

"You are a terrible tease," he said huskily.  "Don't ever change."

Phasma's laugh tinkled nearby. Rey noticed the Marchess and Marchioness watching their daughter, her happiness apparent as Thanisson twirled her around. His adoration of Phasma's beauty and eccentricities was well evident, and the ondits were expecting the declaration of the Viscount's intentions along with the announcement of yet another Organa-Solo wedding within the year.

Kylo inclined his head towards Hux. The redhead was dancing at a slower pace from the rest of the crowd. The dashing General placed his hand solicitously around Isabelle's swollen waist as he steered her protectively around the dance floor. Kylo knew that they would both be magnificent parents, due to their giving natures, as well as their determination to not repeat the wrongs bestowed upon them in their pasts.

"God help them if they have a son," Kylo laughed, thinking about the terrible pranks he and Hux pulled in their childhood.

"I think they would have their hands full with either a son or a daughter," Rey laughed. "Or have you forgotten that not all women are docile and demure?"

"I could never forget," Kylo whispered fervently. "You made sure of that. No amount of dirt or rags could ever hide the strength and spirit which you hold inside."

He drew her back into a secluded corner, tilting her head back as his lips slanted over hers for a kiss.  She was sweet and pliant, and her mouth parted slightly as he delved in with his tongue.  He licked the roof of her mouth and tasted the exhalations of her ragged breaths, before capturing her lower lip gently between his teeth.

He retreated, his pupils darkening as he gazed at her wet and swollen mouth.  They remained in each others arms, only pulling apart when the the opening notes of a French waltz acted as an open invitation for other couples to spill into the Great Hall to dance.

 _Tonight_ , Kylo thought, tamping down his arousal.  He held out his hand.

"Would you care to dance, my Lady?"

"The waltz happens to be a favorite of mine, my Lord."

Kylo pulled her close, their bodies slotting perfectly against one another. Rey was amazed at how the intimate position of the dance--one which had caused her to become so flustered at first--now felt so perfectly right.

Her lips suddenly pulled into a frown. Kylo looked at her quizzically; she gestured at the chalk drawing which decorated the floor, its lines becoming blurred as fine powder was kicked up under a herd of dancing slippers and swirling skirts.

Kylo nodded understandingly. "That particular chapter has ended. It is time for them to embark on a new adventure, don't you think?"

"Could it be a happier one than that which they already share?" Rey asked softly. "It would be hard to believe."

Kylo smiled.  "I would be willing to bet on it."

Rey looked at him saucily.  "A betting man, are you my Lord?" she teased.

"That I am," he said smugly.  "Have I ever told you about the best wager I ever made?"

Rey laughed as Kylo nuzzled her neck. They twirled around the ballroom, lost in their own happiness, surrounded by the love of their family and friends and the warmth of the Caserta sun, the music cascading around them as the drawing of Pan and Selene side by side slowly dissolved into the ether of bliss underneath their feet.

　

_**~Fin~** _

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaah! I can't believe it's finished! Thank you so much for being patient with me between updates, and for all your wonderful feedback and support. It's been an amazing process, you guys are the best!! <3 <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> *Come say "hi" on [Tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/nerdherderette)


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